Harry Potter and the Affair of the American
by Jade3
Summary: Albus Dumbledore is intent on raising hell in the Ministry. The Order of the Phoenix has risen from its ashes. The one who turned the tide in the war against Voldemort 16 years ago has returned...and she can easily destroy everything Harry holds dear...
1. Another Replacement

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and all characters within are the express property of J.K. Rowling. I'm not making money. No suey, no suey.   
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"Hermione--you going to eat that?"   
  
Ron looked up from a drumstick he was most definitely eating and glanced across to Hermione Granger, sitting on Harry's other side. Hermione's fork, laden with a generous lump of mashed sweet potato, had frozen halfway up to her mouth and was staying there. Ron raised his eyebrows.   
  
"'ehmyanie?" Ron managed around a mouthful of turkey.   
  
"_Look_," their friend--and incidentally, prefect--hissed. She nodded in the direction of the teacher's table. "Sitting down beside Snape there."   
  
Harry and Ron's eyes followed hers and lighted on a tall woman, made even more so by her pointed hat. A new professor, a new oddity.   
  
"Bloody hell," Ron breathed. "What is she _wearing_?"   
  
Odd indeed. The newcomer wore her witch's robes loosely; they were on the verge of falling off her shoulders. Beneath the uniform one could easily see a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, dominated by a rearing Chinese dragon curling around a ball of complicated Celtic knots, all of it in silver.   
  
The three friends weren't the only ones staring: the entire Gryffindor table had taken notice by now, and no doubt the Slytherins were already whispering among themselves about...   
  
"My God," George Weasley, having chosen to sit across from them for the express purpose of annoying his little brother. "Is that our--"   
  
"--Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" his twin finished.   
  
"She's practically a Muggle!" Ron exclaimed. Hermione shot him a dirty look from around Harry and Ron flushed. "Sorry, Hermione."   
  
"If she were a Muggle," Hermione said a touch icily, "then she wouldn't_ be_ here at Hogwarts, would she?"   
  
Harry almost smiled at the familiar, prim tone in Hermione's voice: he and Ron had been afraid that, upon being made a prefect, their old friend would become a, well, a Percy. Fortunately, from the beginning of buying their books in Diagon Alley, neither had detected any superiority coming from her.   
  
Well, any more superiority than usual. Which, he supposed, was more than they had asked for. Fred had said that since Hermione already_ was_ a Percy, there would be no getting worse for her.   
  
"Look at her, though!" Ron insisted. "She looks like a seventh year."   
  
The woman who had, undeniably, taken the infamous seat beside Professor Severus Snape did look extremely young. And it didn't help that, as she turned her head to glance at something, the hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail was revealed to be a pale ice-blonde...accented with blood red highlights.   
  
Ron's eyes were bugging out of his head. "Bloody. _Hell_."   
  
Harry was watching the teachers. Dumbledore leaned forward to catch the new teacher's attention. He smiled at her over his half-moon spectacles; she only nodded curtly back and looked away, not touching the food that had appeared on her golden plate. Dumbledore, not looking in the least bit put out, turned back to McGonagall.   
  
_I wonder how badly Snape will hate this one,_ Harry wondered, reaching for his cup of butterbeer while watching the teacher's table from the corner of his eye. From the buzz of the Great Hall he could pick out snatches of conversation, and nearly all of them were about the new teacher. 

"A _girl._ This's the first time since..." 

"Look at those clothes. They let her in like that?" 

"I think they're wicked." 

"Harry...Harry!" 

He started and looked over at Ron, who had nudged him a bit sharply in the ribs. "What?"   
  
"Look at Snape," his friend whispered, pointing. Harry followed his finger and so did Hermione.   
  
Snape, with his greasy hair and sour expression, had been staring at the girl who was sitting in the chair he so wanted with natural dislike. But now the subtle sneer that distorted his thin face was rapidly melting away, replaced by a shocked, disoriented kind of expression. He looked quickly away from the strange teacher, one hand to his forehead, staring into nothing. His eyes closed as though he were in pain. 

Mad Eye Moody's replacement never looked his way once.   
  
Harry saw Dumbledore exchange a glance with McGonagall before he looked to Snape and spoke. Snape inclined his head and actually shuddered, then suddenly stood. Harry didn't even see him say anything to excuse himself. He turned and walked out of the Great Hall, heading for the dungeons.   
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched, rapt, as first Dumbledore then McGonagall made eye contact with the young professor. She looked away with an air of indifference, but Harry thought she seemed a bit grim.   
  
The entire Hall and subsequently quited then reached new heights of noise when Snape left. Hermione turned her head back towards Harry, then Ron. "What was that allabout?"   
  
Harry only shook his head. It was going to be an interesting year. 


	2. Thwarted Plans

A collective gasp went up from the first years as Hermione gave the Fat Lady the password and the picture slowly swung open. A flood of relief and happiness washed over Harry at the familiar sight of the Gryffindor common room: plush chairs, tables with set games of chess, and a roaring fire in the fireplace. Summer vacation had been far too long for his liking. 

Now, most boys usually find summer vacation far too short, but then, most boys don't have to put up with relatives as horrid as the Dursleys. Despite the fact that Harry's life had been made a bit easier at Privet Drive, what with his aunt and uncle's terror of his murderous godfather, Sirius Black, three months of Dudley was about all that he could stand. If Harry had had any say about it, he would have spent the entire break with the Weasley's. 

But Dumbledore had warned him never to stray from his blood relatives, not that summer, or the summer coming, and most likely the summer after that. It was, apparently, the only way to protect Harry from Voldemort. And while Harry was loathe to admit to the fact that one: the Dursleys _were_ his blood relatives, and two: he needed protecting from Voldemort, he was not a stupid boy. Even had he been one, his encounter with the Dark Lord at the Triwizard Tournament would have been enough to cure him permanently. 

No matter. He was at Hogwarts now. So long as Dumbledore lived, Harry was safe at Hogwarts...and the boy who lived felt a complete peace of mind as he stepped through the portrait into the middle of the Gryffindor room and breathed deeply. 

"Hey, Harry! Chocolate frog?" 

Harry opened his eyes to see Neville Longbottom offering a box. He smiled. "No thanks, Neville. I'm stuffed--couldn't eat another bite." 

The blonde boy smiled and shrugged. "All right. See you tomorrow then, Harry. I'm beat." And with a confident wave he turned and headed up the steps to the boys' dormitory. 

Harry blinked after him. "Neville seems different," he muttered to Ron, who had just walked up beside him. 

"He does, doesn't he?" his friend agreed lightly. "Ten Gaellons says he crumbles in Snape's class tomorrow." 

Harry shrugged, wondering where the old stuttering Neville had gone. 

"All right, everyone!" Hermione was shouting over the din, clapping her hands smartly. "Get to bed, get to bed. Girls' dormitory on the right, boys' on the left. Come on, lights off, you all have a big day coming tomorrow." 

"Harry," Ron whispered as they walked together towards the dormitory stairs, "do you have your Invisibility Cloak? And the Marauder's Map?" 

"Should," he replied, waving goodnight to Hermione and smiling wanly at a few openly-staring first years. Several were pointing at his scar. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking." 

Ron only grinned. "Stay awake tonight. Chocolate frog?" 

**** 

Harry lay awake, anticipation running through his veins. Unlike the rest of the school, he and Ron wouldn't have to wait until tomorrow morning for their "curiousity to be fully satisfied," as Dumbledore had so infuriatingly put it... 

_"...and lastly..." Dumbledore paused, goblet in the air, and the entire Great Hall held its breath. Almost every student was leaning forward in his or her chair, eagerly waiting to find out who the strange creature sitting at the teacher's table was.___

_"...I'm sure you're well aware of our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Let us extend a warm welcome to Hogwarts to her."___

_The applause was thunderous. It was amazing, Harry thought, what Muggle clothing and surreal hair could do.___

_"Unfortunately, I'm afraid you'll all have to wait until classes begin tomorrow to have your curiousity fully satisified. For now, Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon!" Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled wickedly over his spectacles as he gestured with his goblet, drank, and sat down._

It was past midnight before Harry dared to part the curtains surrounding his bed and whisper, "Ron?" 

There was a silence, then, "Harry?" 

"Hang on. I'm putting the cloak on." Harry retreated behind the curtains and put on his robes with one hand while he felt for the Invisibility Cloak, hidden under his covers, then grabbed the Maurader's Map from beneath the pillow. He tossed the cloak over his head and slipped out of bed. 

"Ron." Harry poked his head through his friend's half-drawn curtains. Ron was wide awake, already robed, looking around excitedly. 

"Harry?" 

"Come on," Harry hissed, lifting the cloak and tossing it over Ron's hand. Ron stared at his stump of a wrist for a moment, then grinned fiercely and ducked under the Invisibility Cloak. 

"'lo there," he said. 

"Shh." Harry pointed to the stairs. "Let's go." 

They made their way silently down to the common room, trying not to trod on the cloak. Once safely downstairs they spoke a bit more easily. Harry began unfolding the map. 

"Should we sneak in and wake Hermione?" Ron murmured, staring thoughtfully at the stairs to the girls' dormitory. 

Harry's hands froze for a moment before he replied with a pang, "No. She'd probably have to report us, even if she didn't want to. Besides, I don't want to get her in trouble." 

Ron threw him a sidelong look. "Not like it hasn't happened to her before." 

"She wasn't a prefect then. Prefects don't go running around the school after dark, not if they want to stay prefects." 

Ron was silent for a moment. "You're right," he said. His shoulders slumped a bit; he seemed to have lost some of his prior enthusiasm. 

Harry sighed quietly then finished unfolding the map. "Here we go..." He fished into his robes for his wand and tapped the Marauder's Map. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." 

"I'll say you are," a new voice said from behind. 

Both Harry and Ron whirled in alarm and in doing so tangled the Invisibility Cloak around themselves in a most unfortunate way. After some frenzied struggling both boys fell to the ground in a heap. 

Harry looked down at himself to see everything invisible from his chest down. Then he looked up and saw Hermione standing above them, arms crossed and a stern expression on her face. 

"Gmff--Harry, get your elbow out of my...bloody hell!" 

Hermione's eyes wandered past Harry to Ron's legs, sticking out from beneath the Invisibility Cloak. Then she started laughing uncontrollably into her hand, having a horrible time stifling her snickers. 

"Hermione, Hermio--shhh!" 

"Sorry," she wheezed, straightening up. "You two just look so funny..." 

Something soft hit Harry in the face as Ron flung the cloak off of himself and sat up. "Hermi, don't report us, please..." 

"I had a feeling you two would be down here," Hermione whispered, putting her hands on her hips and glaring severely. Her intended effect was somewhat negated by the gleeful smile on her face. "Leaving without me?" 

"...and how are we supposed to--what?" 

"Ron, you idiot, shut up," Harry muttered, throwing the cloak to one side before looking hopefully up at Hermione. "You mean it, Hermione?" 

"Mean what? Don't be stupid, Ron, I'm not going to report you." 

"You mean you want to come?" 

Hermione gave Harry an incredulous look. "And let _you _two have all the fun? No such luck." 

Ron was staring at her open-mouthed. 

"Come on, before someone sees us," Hermione whispered, grabbing the Invisibility Cloak and whipping it over all three of them as she crouched beside her two friends. 

"But, but, what about your--" 

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione said with a hushed laugh. 

Ron met Harry's eyes. "I believe we've been a _damn_ bad influence on her..." 

Harry grinned as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. 

"All right, all right, what are we doing?" Hermione demanded. Bossily. 

_Oh, well. Win some, lose some._

"This." He spread the Maurader's Map open for Hermione to see. "We're looking for the new teacher." 

"How do you know the map will show her, Dumbledore never said her name!" 

"Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs'll come through," Ron whispered reverently. "They've got to." 

Harry's eyes scanned the map eagerly. "There's McGonagall...Dumbledore, Hagrid...Snape, who's not moving..." 

"That's a relief," Ron muttered. 

"...Flitwick...oh, look, look, here!" 

"Where?" Hermione asked, flinching as Ron braced himself against her back for a better look. 

"Here." Harry pointed to a small black dot moving busily around in a classroom on one far end of the school, just below Sybil Trelawney's Divination room in the tower. Above it was the name _Carmen Rysk._

"Carmen Rysk," Hermione said quietly. "Curious name." 

"Suits her, then, doesn't it?" Ron answered dryly. Then, "Bloody_ hell!_" 

"What?" Harry asked, startled. 

"Look at that--she's all the way across the damn school from Snape's room. I have Defense Against the Arts right after Potions--we all do!" 

Harry groaned inaudibly while Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh,_ why _can't we Apparate inside school grounds?" 

_So that none of Voldemort's followers or Voldemort himself can come in and get at _me_...at anyone,_ Harry thought. 

"We might as well learn the route now," Ron whispered, brightening. Harry grinned and began folding up the map as Ron stood and moved forward. "Come on--" 

"Wait!" Hermione hissed frantically. 

"Wha--" 

Before either of the boys could move she had leaned forward and snatched the Marauder's Map out of Harry's hands. "Hey!" 

"We can't go," Hermione said, looking as though she had eaten a piece of rotten meat. 

"What?" Ron demanded, "Why?" 

"Look right in front of the Fat Lady," Hermione said grimly, handing the map to Ron. Ron glanced at the parchment and instantly looked as though he, too, had swallowed something unpleasant. "Damn. It's Peeves," he spat as Harry took the map from him. "And he's not moving." 

Harry grimaced, staring at the map. 

Filch had taken precautions this year. 


	3. Professor Harrison

Ms. Carmen Rysk was not at the front of the classroom when her first fifth-year class of the day filed into the surprisingly spartan chamber. It was not a woman's space; Gilderoy Lockhart's had been more feminine. The shelves were almost bare, holding only a few opaque vials scattered among them. A neat desk sat at the front of the room. 

As a matter of fact, it bore an uncanny resemblance to Snape's dungeon, only with sunlight. 

Hermione fidgeted in her seat. She didn't need anything to remind her of Potions class: Slytherins and Snape. Who, as Ron had correctly predicted, had been absolute hell. 

She'd gotten separated from Ron and Harry by a staircase that simply had to change at the most inconvenient time--and just when they had figured out the fastest route to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Now she could only hope the two boys could find their way without her--although she seriously doubted it. 

A small silver bell sitting on the unoccupied desk leaped into the air and rang sharply--Rysk's way of separating those on time and those tardy, Hermione supposed. A minute passed, and the classroom remained teacherless. Students started whispering among themselves. 

The door slammed open. The room fell silent as the young woman with the eccentric hair (uncovered by a hat) swept in, her robes once again serving more as a cloak, revealing her khakis and bright red shirt with black spirals winding about the sleeves. Hermione bit her lip and glanced at the door as the professor passed her. Harry and Ron had still not come. 

"All right, class," Rysk said. Even her voice was a novelty: young but sarcastic and more than a touch cold. "Do me a favor and shut up. I've only had one class and I'm already reconsidering this job." 

Hermione blinked. Everyone probably blinked. And fell silent. 

Rysk reached back and tugged at her low ponytail, tightening it. "You're in Defense Against the Dark Arts now. And no, I am_ not_ an impostor using Polyjuice Potion. No reason to tell you that, except maybe for a class of idiot second years acting like I was here to murder them." She hitched a hip onto her desk as she spoke. 

At that moment, a commotion by the door turned all heads to the back of the classroom. Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and   
Draco Malfoy were all three shoving to get through first. Malfoy fell against the doorframe with a snarled curse, and the other two pushed past him. 

They were stopped cold by the sight of a Muggle-clad witch striding down the aisle to meet him halfway. Malfoy nearly ran into Harry, who had pulled up short in front of Rysk. 

Rysk crossed her arms and stared down at the three boys for a moment. Harry shifted uncomfortably--the woman looked downright strange with her wildly colored hair and slate-grey eyes. Ron recovered his breath first, but he was still panting when he broke the silence. "We're...we're sorry, ma'am. We, uh, see, we came from Potions and the staircases changed and--" 

"I see," she said succinctly. The brisk phrase contrasted sharply with her youthful face. Ron's mouth worked for a few seconds longer before snapping shut. She turned her gaze down onto Harry. "What about you?" 

"Same--same as him," Harry said, jerking his head toward Ron. Rysk nodded slowly, still staring in a most unnerving way.   
Somehow, Harry didn't think that introducing himself as The Boy Who Lived was going to impress her much. 

Rysk released Harry from her gaze and looked over him to Malfoy. The entire class was dead silent and seemed intent on   
remaining so. Harry looked around the room and his eye was caught by Hermione, who mouthed, "_A-mer-i-can_," at him. She pointed at Rysk's back, and Harry nodded slightly. The woman's accent made it obvious. 

Draco Malfoy was openly eyeing Rysk's highlighted hair and her clothing, his face looking as though it was on the verge of breaking into a sneer. He began without waiting to be asked, "Potter and Weasley saw me in the halls and shoved me down--" 

Ron whirled. "Like hell we did, Malfoy--" 

"_Shut up_." 

Both boys fell silent. Rysk's eyes were travelling up and down Malfoy in a keen, almost scathing manner. "Slytherin, aren't you?" she said softly. 

Malfoy reached up and brushed a lock of sweat-plastered hair from his forehead as he replied, "Yes." His lip curled near-imperceptibly. "Professor." 

The American stared at him inscrutably a moment longer, causing the scorn to fall from the blonde boy's face like leaves in autumn, before saying in a vaguely sarcastic voice, "I'm sorry." 

Malfoy's mouth opened a few centimeters and shut sharply. He edged towards a seat, glaring venomously at the teacher. 

"And that," Rysk turned to Ron and Harry, "would make you both Gryffindors." 

Ron's chest swelled a bit and Harry's shoulders straightened as they said in unison, "Yes, ma'am." 

Strange amusement flashed across Rysk's face. "My condolences." They blinked. "Go to your seats and be on time next time. Unless Snape finally decides to poison you, then you won't need to worry about it." 

This drew some uncertain laughter from a few of the class. Rysk turned and began to walk down the aisle. Harry let out a breath and Ron blinked hard, several times, before they both meekly made their way to the seats Hermione had saved. 

"Potter!" 

Rysk spun on her heel, a wand appearing in her hand from out of no where, and pointing directly at Harry. 

"I'm going to put the the death curse on you now," she said, advancing a few steps. Her slender, attractive face was unnervingly blank and focused. "You have two seconds to react before you die. One..." 

Harry snapped to his senses in time. He didn't know what drove him to his reaction; something about this woman truly frightened him. He was certain that she would kill him without a qualm. He drew his wand. "Expelliarmus!" 

Rysk's wand sprang from her hand into the air. Before anyone could blink, or gasp, or run, the young woman had darted forward and grabbed her wand. "Accio wand!" she rapped, and the weapon ceased to resist. She pointed it at Harry. "_Expelliarmus_!" 

Harry's wand flew through the air. Rysk caught it easily with her left hand. 

Ron and Hermione were on their feet, wands out. 

The entire class was gaping. 

Rysk sauntered over to Harry. "Good reaction, Potter." She offered him his wand, business end pointing away. He stared at her before taking it back. "But I countered, didn't I?" 

Harry nodded. Rysk looked at Ron and Hermione on either side of him. "Sit down, you two. You don't really think I would have killed him?" 

Their silence was more than enough answer. Rysk shrugged and walked back to the front of the class. 

"All right there, Harry?" Ron whispered as they sat down. 

"My God, you're shaking," hissed Hermione, placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry only shook his head. 

"I'm--I'm fine," he swallowed, staring raptly at the table's edge. "I'm fine." 

Rysk hitched one hip onto her desk again as she addressed the class. "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said, sarcastically. "Two rules. If you don't want to pay attention, that's fine, but shut up and stay out of my way about it. If you _don't_ stay out of my way, you will be used for target practice when we start throwing the Pain Curses." 

No one laughed. She wasn't joking. 

"Any questions?" The witch surveyed her students with something like amusement before continuing. "This," she bounced her wand lightly between two fingers, "is a weapon. You might have figured that out during my demonstration with Potter there." She nodded toward him, and for a split second Harry felt her eyes study him. "_Avada Kedavra_!" 

The entire class cringed reflexively. 

"And boom. You're dead." Rysk's voice was disturbingly soft. "So I want you to forget about defense." She stood and   
rapped the desk with her knuckles. "In combat there is _only_ offense and counter-offense. Say it, offense and counter-offense." 

The class repeated it. 

Rysk watched them all with her grey eyes. "Good. And as far as offense and counter-offense goes...the one who moves the fastest...lives. 

"You've been taught about the three Unforgivables?" 

Nods from around the class. 

"You've all practiced resisting the Imperius, too." 

Murmured assents. 

"And the nasty creatures, you know how to deal with all that." 

"Of course we do," Malfoy sneered loudly from his seat, breaking the terse quality of the air. "Our teacher was a werewolf." 

Harry twisted around in his seat. "Shut _up,_ Malfoy." 

Rysk pinned her gaze onto Draco, who was sitting back in his chair and looking smug. "A werewolf?" she said slowly. The edge her voice had suddenly taken on wiped the smug expression right off of Malfoy's face. 

"A werewolf, ma'am," Hermione answered sharply, and with defiance. "Professor Lupin, the best we ever had." 

Rysk stared hard at Hermione. "Lupin was here?" In a soft, drawling tone. 

She nodded. "Yes, ma'am." 

The grey eyes narrowed for half a second at something invisible before the teacher resumed as if nothing had happened. "Lectures, the Unforgivables, some hands-on with animals. But." Her piercing, unnerving gaze swept the room. "I doubt any of you have ever been in the situation of life or death facing another human being. And even if you have," another swift glance at Harry, "who here knew how to deal with it? Hm? Who was ready to kill that other person in order to live?" 

No one moved, no one spoke. 

Rysk steepled her fingers and tapped them together. "All right. Get out your books. This year you're going to learn how to get into someone's head, how to think on your toes. You're going to learn how to duel to the death and live. 

"Oh, by the way," she said over the noise of bags being unzipped and books being opened, "I'm Professor Harrison." 


	4. How Typical

"I'm sure she didn't really mean to kill you," Hermione said, sounding completely unconvinced of herself. She was holding Harry's arm lightly as they walked together down the halls. 

"What the bloody hell do you mean?" Ron exclaimed softly, glancing over his shoulder with an unfeigned shudder. "The woman's mad. Did you see that look on her face?" 

"Harry!" 

George and Fred Weasley ran up behind them. "Is it true?" Fred demanded, the mischievous light in his eyes banked in a rare moment of seriousness. "Did she really try and kill you?" 

Harry didn't answer until they turned a corner. "It was just a demonstration." His voice was weary. 

"I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't," George declared. "She's like Snape--" 

"And McGonagall--" 

"And Mad-Eye Moody--" 

"Rolled together." 

"Into quite an eyeful," George added with leering thoughtfulness. "Weird clothes, though." 

Ron and Hermione had been watching the twins finish each others' sentences, heads turning back and forth as though at a tennis match. 

"Now_ that's_ creepy," Hermione muttered. "Oh, I'm sorry." 

The third year boy who had bumped into Hermione took one look at the silver 'P' stitched onto her robes, ducked his head, and mumbled an inaudible apology before rushing on. 

"Strange," she murmured. 

"I agree with you," Ron deadpanned. "She'd be a 'wow' if she weren't a _stark raving lunatic_!" 

"She isn't that bad," Harry lied. "I mean, here I am, right?" He adjusted his robes so as not to trod on them. 

"That accent," Fred said, grinning in admiration. 

"Go on, hit on her," Ron muttered. "Don't blame me when she blows your bloody brains out." He stopped as the group walked past a staircase. "I have to go to Charms," he explained. "Better go before these change." 

"Oh," Harry said, genuinely disappointed but also grateful for a change of subject. "Well, at least you don't have to face McGonagall yet." 

"Yeah, I'll have to face her without _you_." 

Ron used the word inclusively, but Harry saw him sneak a glance at Hermione. He pressed down a smile. 

"Muggle Studies is this way," Fred said. "We'll escort you through the halls, Ronniekins." 

Ron, who stood level with his twin brothers by now, swung at Fred, who ducked and ran laughing down the stairs. 

"No running in the corridors!" Hermione shouted after him. 

"Don't bother, 'mioney," said George, grinning. "He wouldn't listen to you if you were Head Girl." 

"Muggle Studies?" Harry asked, surprised. 

"Yeah. Dad finally roped us into it." George rolled his eyes before shouting after his twin. "Oy, Fred, wait up! Come on,   
_Ronniekins_." 

Ron waved at Harry and Hermione before giving chase to George. Hermione only smiled and shook her head. 

A thousand noises suddenly exploded in the school. Bird squawks, gavels tapping, bells ringing, water splashing, prima donnas singing, all from different classrooms. Hermione gasped as Harry cringed. "We're late! Ohhh, we're late for Transfiguration on the first day!" 

"Come on!" Harry tugged on her sleeve and started running. 

A minute later they skidded into McGonagall's classroom, which overlooked the Quidditch field. No witch sat at the professor's desk and for a moment Harry felt his heart leap in hope until he noticed the stiff cat with the markings around its eyes sitting on top of a stack of folders. 

The cat leaped gracefully to the ground, whereupon it immediately became a woman in emerald robes and a tall, crooked hat. Hermione and Harry sidled to their seats. 

"Miss Granger," said McGonagall sternly, walking to stand in front of Hermione. "I trust you have a reason for your tardiness." 

"There was a lost first year in the corridors, ma'am," Hermione said, meeting the professor's eye. 

"Ah. And you, Mr. Potter? I suppose you stayed to help?" 

"Yes, ma'am," replied Harry, trying to lie as convincingly as Hermione. 

McGonagall's thin lips pinched together. "You needn't have done so--Miss Granger is the prefect, not you." From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Malfoy smirking. "Five points from Gryffindor." She turned her gaze onto Hermione. "And ten points _to_ Gryffindor." 

As soon as the professor's back was turned Harry and Hermione exchanged a smile. 

"Now, class, I trust you all reviewed your books over the summer," McGonagall said, with more than a touch of sarcasm in her voice. "Who here can refresh our memories further by turning this," she held up the infamous pincushion, "into a porcupine?" 

No one moved, except Hermione, whose hand shot straight up. Naturally, McGonagall ignored her. 

"Mr. Longbottom." She approached Neville's seat, set so unfortunately at the front of the class, and placed the pincushion before him. "Please demonstrate." 

All the Slytherins snickered. "Watch the idiot git blow himself up again," Harry heard Malfoy hiss to Crabbe and Goyle. He   
turned and shot a venomous look at the blonde boy over his shoulder. 

Neville stared at the pincushion for a moment, drawing a deep breath. Then he picked up his wand and intoned in an uncharacteristically steady voice, "_Metamorphose porcupine_." 

The pincushion twitched, changed color, and slowly morphed into a sniffling little creature covered in spikes. 

McGonagall, eyebrows raised in understated surprise, leaned over and surveyed the porcupine critically. "A few pins still left," she said, gingerly picking out two white-headed ones. "But on the whole, satisfactory work, Mr. Longbottom. Ten points to Gryffindor." 

"My God," Hermione murmured, "what's happened to Neville?" 

Harry grinned. It was almost enough to make him forget about Professor Carmen Rysk, who had said her name was Professor Harrison. 

Almost. 

**** 

Several late owls flew over the Great Hall during lunch. One of them dropped a letter into Harry's lap and flew away to the Owlery without so much as a by-your-leave hoot. 

"See, Hermione, the reason she doesn't call on you is that she wants to see how many more times it takes until your arm falls off. Which won't be long...whatcha got there, Harry?" 

Harry flipped the rather weathered envelope over to see simply: 

_Harry_

The handwriting was instantly recognized by both Ron and Hermione as they leaned over his shoulders. "Padfoot," Ron muttered. 

"Hurry up and eat," said Harry quietly. "We'll open it in the common room, if no one's there." 

"I'm full," said Hermione instantly, shoving back in her chair. "Damned if I leech off the house elves too much, anyway," she added under her breath. 

Ron rolled his eyes and shovelled a last-minute spoonful of rice into his mouth before standing as well. Harry tucked Sirius's letter inside his robes and together they walked into the foyer outside the Hall. 

"Well, well, look at this." A cold, drawling voice reached their ears as they began to ascend the stairs. "Potty, the Weasel, and the Mudblood." 

Ron, standing lowest on the stairs, whirled around with frightening vehemence, wand drawn and pointed at Malfoy, who was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. His freckles stood out starkly against a pale face suddenly much whiter than usual with fury. "Take that back," he growled. 

Malfoy arched an eyebrow insolently. "Or what, Weasley?" 

Hermione, standing above Ron, reached down and grabbed his shoulder. "Ron, don't worry about it...come on, ignore him." 

"Well, how about it Potter?" jeered Malfoy, dismissing Ron's threat with insulting nonchalance. "Even going to show up for Defense Against the Arts tomorrow? You looked like you were going to faint. Watch out, Harrison might be a Dementor in disguise." 

Ron's jaw clenched, his desire to hex the sneer off of Malfoy's face obvious. Hermione's grip on his shoulder turned dangerously firm; he turned his shoulder and began walking up the stairs but without putting away his wand. 

"That's right," drawled Malfoy maliciously. He sounded gleefully thoughtful, as though he had suddenly remembered something most delightful. "Pass along my congratulations to your brother, Weasley, for being the only one of your kind with any brains...only one who could see what a family of Muggle-lovers he came from..." 

Harry turned around, his brow furrowed, about to ask what Malfoy meant. He only got a glance of the vicious anger contorting Ron's face before his friend whipped violently around. 

"_SHUT UP!_" roared Ron, pointing his wand with a shaking hand. "Stupi--" 

"Ron, no!" Harry fumbled for his wand. "Expelliarmus!" 

Ron's wand arced through the air to Harry. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione catch Draco's wand. He blinked. 

Ron turned sharply and stared at Harry in angry disbelief. Harry flinched and looked away. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Hermione gasped as Snape came sweeping down the stairs, his sallow face severe. The Potions master looked between the two groups. A nasty, eager sort of smile twitched at his lips. 

"They tried to attack us, Professor," Malfoy said with sickening confused helplessness. "Me and Crabbe and Goyle, we were just walking--" 

"Detention for a week, all three of you, and twenty points each from Gryffindor," snapped Snape. He turned to look at Harry. "Not even the end of the first day, Potter, and already in trouble," he said softly. "How typical." 

"Challenge: twenty points each _to_ Gryffindor," a new voice said from above. Everyone's head snapped up to see Professor 'Harrison' leaning over the balcony railing one floor above. "I'm afraid you didn't see everything, Professor Snape, so I have to counter your punishment." The young woman emphasized Snape's title in a vaguely sarcastic manner. Snape's lip curled. Rysk vanished from sight and reappeared as she made her way down the steps, her robes billowing impressively behind her in sharp contrast to her Muggle clothing. "Malfoy provoked them," she said simply, stopping beside Snape. "Detention, Malfoy." Subtle disgust ran deeply beneath her icy voice. "For picking a fight. And lying about it." 

"I doubt, Ms. Harrison, that Mr. Malfoy did anything of the sort," Snape said in a dangerous voice, advancing a step towards the new teacher, trying to use his height to intimidate. Unfortunately for him, Rysk stood barely a centimeter shorter than he. 

The American's eyebrows rose a hair. "I saw the entire thing, Snape." Harry noted that the usual amicable air between teachers was absent as far as these two were concerned. Indeed, Rysk seemed to be using her civility as an insult. "Are you questioning my integrity?" 

Snape glared at her. 

"Five points from Slytherin," announced Rysk in a voice that brooked no argument. "Five from Gryffindor, and detention for you, too, Weasley. Five points each to you two," she glanced at Harry and Hermione, "for preventing a fight. Now, return the wands." 

Harry held out the wand to Ron, who practically snatched it away with a blank stare. Hermione, swallowing her disgust, marched stiffly down the stairs and offered Malfoy his. He took it with only a ghost of his usual smirk, not looking very happy at all. 

"Mr. Weasley, you will report to the dungeons after supper," Snape started. 

"No." Snape's head snapped up to Rysk; his eyes narrowed. The young professor continued coolly, "Since I saw the entire thing, that would put me in charge. Do you have a problem with that, Snape?" 

The Potions master's dark eyes spit daggers at Rysk before he turned on his heel and stalked off, his footsteps ringing out on the flagged stone floor. 

Rysk watched after Snape for a moment, and odd look flickering across her eyes, before turning back to the students. 

"Professor...Harrison," Hermione spoke up, stumbling a bit over the name. "Please, if you're going to punish Ron, give the rest of us detention, too...we were using magic between classes." 

Ron remained angrily silent. 

Rysk ignored Hermione. "Weasley, be in my room after dinner tonight. You," she said to Malfoy, "will stay after class tomorrow. Understand?" 

"Yes, Professor," replied Malfoy with insinuating politeness. Behind him, Goyle grunted something under his breath. 

"Good." Rysk's eyes flicked over the students. "Get going." 

Ron turned and began running up the stairs. Harry tried to catch his sleeve as he passed. "Ron, I'm sorry." 

With a look of disgust Ron shook Harry off and continued his dash to the Gryffindor room. Harry stared after him helplessly, feeling like scum. 

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, resting a hand on his arm. "We'll talk to him." 

Professor 'Harrison' was left alone in the vast foyer. She watched Malfoy swagger back into the Great Hall with an imperceptible curl of her lip and stared after Harry Potter until he vanished around a corner, Hermione's hand on his shoulder. 

"The boy who lived," Rysk murmured under her breath, sounding strangely bitter and amused at the same time. She began walking up the stairs, one hand trailing over the railing, when a flash of white on the flagged tiles below caught her eye. She stopped and stared at the envelope--it must have flown out of Potter's robes while he was reaching for his wand. Rysk made a mental note to work on drawing wands in her class; Potter's handling of it had been quite messy. 

Glancing around to make sure she was alone, Rysk vaulted over the railing and landed softly on the floor below with catlike grace, something she wasn't supposed to be able to do. After all, she was just a normal witch, albeit with streaked hair and a penchant for Muggle clothing. 

Her lips tugged up into a sardonic smile. 

She picked the letter up, intending to return it to its owner. Her intentions swiftly changed as she flipped the envelope over and saw the handwriting. 

Rysk's grey eyes widened. "_Fucking..."_

The letter disappeared into a pocket within her robes and travelled with her to her personal chambers. 

_Lupin, and now this. I'm really starting to regret this..._


	5. Educated People

"Ron!" 

Harry had left Hermione in the common room and sprinted up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, taking the steps two at a time. He stood panting in front of the tightly-drawn curtains of Ron's four-poster. No reply came from within. 

"Ron," he begged again. "Look, I'm--" He glanced around the empty room helplessly. "I'm sorry. But...but don't you see, that was what he was _trying_ to get you to do." 

Silence. 

"And...and besides, we're fifth years now, we should know better...and what did he mean about your brother? Which one? Ron, come on..." Harry reached out to pull the curtains back. He managed to move them about an inch before an invisible hand forced them closed violently, nearly ripping the fabric. Harry took an involuntary step back. 

"Is...is he all right?" Harry turned to see Hermione walking up the stairs as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Don't worry, no one's here," she added, seeing Harry's apprehensive expression. 

"I...he won't talk to me," Harry muttered, rubbing at his forehead. 

Hermione's lips pinched. "Ron?" she asked softly, walking past Harry. "Ron, please, talk to us." 

This time the person sitting on the bed shifted a bit, as though agitated. Hermione heard it and pressed on. "You don't even have to tell us yet, if you don't want to. Come on, come out, we'll open Siri...Padfoot's letter together. Right?" 

Harry jumped under Hermione's sharp gaze. "Yeah." He reached into his robes. "Yeah, Ron, I have it here...just..." Sudden cold horror made Harry feel as though a giant drill had bored straight through his insides as his fingers continued to fumble and find nothing. 

"Harry?" Hermione's eyes narrowed as her friend turned sharply pale. She took a step towards him, a weight sinking into her own chest. "Do you..." she faltered. 

Harry stared wildly around for a moment. "No!" he cried softly. "Oh, God...!" 

The scrape of metal on metal was heard as Ron threw the hangings back in real alarm, unable to hold on to his anger. All he managed to see was Harry flying down the stairs. "What?" he demanded, "What happened?" He looked up at Hermione, who was standing and staring after Harry, both hands pressed over her mouth. 

"He lost it," she said slowly, incredulously. "He _lost _it...!" 

Ron blinked. His throat went dry. "Oh my God." He jumped out of the bed and grabbed Hermione's arm. "Bloody hell, come on!" 

**** 

Hermione and Ron were both gasping for breath when they finally found Harry. He was bent over the railing of the foyer steps, panting, staring at the floor. The foyer was quiet: luncheon had ended and the Great Hall was empty. All the students had returned to their common rooms for a half-hour break; Hermione and Ron knew; they'd had to shove their way through the throng going in the opposite direction. 

"Harry!" called Hermione.. He looked up with hollow, shocked eyes. 

Ron forced himself to run all the way down to his friend, nearly knocking him over as he stumbled to a stop one stair above him. "Think, Harry, think!" he urged between gasps, earlier resentment forgotten. "Did you look everywhere you were?" 

"Everywhere," Harry said miserably, his eyes fixed on the stone tiles as though he could make the letter materialize. "It was here, I'm sure...when I pulled out my wand. _Shit._" He ran a hand through his unruly hair, wiping away an angry tear at the same time. "Someone has it." 

"The Summoning Charm," said Hermione suddenly from the top of the staircase. Both boys looked up at her in surprise. "Use the Summoning Charm," she repeated impatiently. 

"I don't know where it is," said Harry helplessly. 

"Just concentrate on it," snapped Hermione, "You did it with your Firebolt." 

Harry took a breath and pulled out his wand, closing his eyes. He tried to visualize Sirius's envelope, the worn parchment with his scrawl of handwriting, but he kept seeing the Ministry already tracing the letter, already sending out the Dementors after his godfather... 

_Focus, focus, focus._

"_Accio letter!_" he commanded, flicking his wand. 

Nothing happened. 

"_Accio letter!_" he repeated, a high note of desperation seeping into his voice. 

"Wait," he heard Hermione say. "All three of us, together. Concentrate!" 

Harry waited until he heard the others draw breath. "_ACCIO LETTER_!" 

Their raised voices, blended in unison, rang out clearly through the large foyer. But no letter came. 

**** 

Harry Potter fought helpless anger the rest of the day. Astronomy, Charms, History, all of it passed in a blur. The last class came nothing of a surprise to anyone, as firstly Professor Binns never asked what was wrong and secondly everyone else in the room had been fighting tears of boredom themselves. But throughout the remainder of the day, Harry had to deflect the concerned inquiries of Dean Seamus, Neville Longbottom and the Weasley twins, among a few others. 

Sirius's tortured eyes, his desperate pleas for mercy as the Dementors had descended on them two years ago were burned permanently into Harry's brain. He could never forgive himself if his godfather was discovered through his own damn carelessness. 

"I'm such an idiot," he ground through clenched teeth as he walked with Hermione to the Gryffindor tower. Ron was serving his detention. It had been an impossibly long day. "I'm a such God damn, stupid, piece-of-shit _git_." 

"Don't say that," Hermione hissed softly between one glare and the next at curiously staring younger students. Harry's complete apathy to the world had started strange little rumors like wildfire among the first and second years. No doubt sponsored by Colin Creevy, who still pointed Harry out to friends whenever he could. 

Guarded by his friend, Harry managed to make it to the Fat Lady. "Password?" 

"Celery," said Harry mechanically. 

"My, dear, what's wrong?" asked the Fat Lady as she swung aside. 

"Not you, too," muttered Harry as he stepped through. 

"Well! Children these days, no manners at all...!" 

The room was bustling and full of talk. The fire was kept to a small flame, as the nights were still fairly warm and the many bodies inside the common room were almost enough to pose the threat of overheating through crowding. Harry wearily began pushing through the crowd to the boys' dormitory. 

"Oy! Harry!" A hand on his shoulder made Harry turn and look up into Fred's face--or was it George? No, there was George, coming up behind Fred. "Turning in so early?" 

"Fred," said Hermione severely, "he's really..._really_ tired..." 

"I know, I know," George said, not unkindly but waving a hand impatiently. "Just hear us out, Harry, and you'll be free to go, eh?" 

Hermione looked over to where a near-physical dispute had broken out among some younger students. "Hey! Hey, you two, break it up...!" She left the boys with a frustrated, apologetic glance to do her prefect's duty. 

"You know our _ghost _problem?" whispered Fred, tilting his head to the back end of the portrait of the Fat Lady. Harry nodded, feeling interest stir. 

"George and I have decided that this simply won't do. Preventing students from creeping out at night! The inhumanity!" George clutched at his heart in mock-grief. Fred grinned wickedly. 

"Oh, no, what have you two done?" murmured Harry. 

"Nothing you wouldn't in the blink of an eye," George scoffed, careful to keep his voice down. The group had slowly drifted into a quieter corner of the room. "All right, so listen: at the stroke of midnight a...distraction will be set off in the dungeons." 

Harry blinked. "Set _off_...?" 

"Peeves is to Jumping Jellybean Bombs..." 

"...as bees are to honey," finished Fred. 

For the first time all day, Harry started laughing and couldn't stop. 

**** 

Harry waited until the breathing coming from Ron's bed had been deep and steady for several minutes. 

"Lumos," whispered Harry. The end of his wand slowly brightened into a warm, soft glow. Harry hoped that the hangings and covers he was under would prevent anyone outside from seeing it. 

The sheets of Harry's bed were tossed over his head to form a tent of sorts. The Marauder's Map was spread across his folded legs. Fred and George had warned them that things could go awry, so he had better put his beloved map to good use. 

Ron had walked quietly in thirty minutes before midnight: an extraordinarily long detention. Harry was sure he had heard him crying softly. With more than a pang of his conscience he had refrained from sticking his head out and asking what was wrong. Harry had already decided that he had better keep Hermione and Ron out of this one: his friends, he reasoned, would be only more noise than help in searching for Sirius's letter. Of course, Hermione was wonderfully clever and Ron was his best friend...but something in Harry rebelled against the thought of any further company. He wanted to be alone. 

A sudden flurry of movement exploded over the Marauder's map. The dots _Argus Filch, Mrs. Norris,_ and _Severus Snape_ were all three moving quickly, the former of the two racing across the school toward the dungeons. 

"Yes!" hissed Harry as _Peeves _zoomed straight through the walls toward the commotion, as far away from the Gryffindor tower as Fred and George could have made it. 

Harry threw the covers back, "_Nox_," and swirled the Invisibility Cloak about himself. He padded softly through the dormitory to the Weasley twins' beds and roused them from feigned sleep. 

"Thank God!" whispered George as they ducked beneath the cloak, "I thought I was going to burst!" 

Together they stole out of the dormitory under the cover of invisibility. They stopped in the common room in front of the exit. "Still all clear?" asked Fred. 

Harry checked the map. "Yeah," he murmured. _Severus Snape, Argus Filch,_ and _Mrs. Norris _were still bouncing frantically about in the dungeons, no doubt chasing the Jumping Jellybeans and, on occasion, the _Peeves_ dot. For the first time, Harry blessed the poltergeist's knack for worsening an already bad situation. 

"All right. Good luck finding your books, Harry," said George. 

Harry had fed the twins a carefully concocted tale of misplacing both his Potions and Defense Against the Arts homework. The twins, realizing that these were the first two classes of Harry's day, naturally accepted this as a crisis that justified sneaking out at night for anything other than food or mischief. 

"We're going to the kitchens," said Fred as they climbed through the hole in the wall and the portrait of the (thankfully) snoozing Fat Lady swung closed behind them. He looked around at the inside of the cloak. "Bloody marvellous cloak, Harry," he said wistfully. 

"Thanks." 

George and Fred slipped out from the cloak and began running quietly toward the stairs. "Don't get caught!" hissed Harry after them! 

"Don't worry! We never do!" 

Harry waited until the twins were out of sight before walking to picture that, according to the Marauder's Map, hid a secret passageway leading down into the marble staircase outside the Great Hall. To Harry's surprise and relief, the secret of the scenic landscape was relatively simple: after a few minutes of experimenting, he found that if one poked the lone apple on the tree in the background once... 

To avoid accidents, Harry did away with the Invisibility Cloak and carried it over his arm as he carefully walked down a dizzyingly tall, rickety spiral staircase. The going was slow: Harry was wary of any trick steps or the like. Falling what must have been miles to the hard tiles below was not a notion that tickled his fancy. He finally reached the bottom, surprisingly without mishap. He had to search a while before catching sight of a small silver latch in one corner of the small, dark room. He lifted it, and an entire section of the wall slid away with the soft rumble of stone-on-stone. Harry winced, hurriedly donning the Invisibility Cloak. 

He emerged into the foyer beyond the Great Hall, behind the marble staircase. 

That's why this one never seemed to move, reflected Harry as a suit of armor travelled with the wall, sliding back into place automatically. 

The school was deserted and empty. "Lumos," Harry whispered, unfolding the Marauder's Map and holding his wand to it. _Fred Weasley_ and _George Weasley _were down by the kitchens. He smiled. Snape and the rest were still as busy as ever. _I hope they drop dead from exhaustion, the lot of them, _thought Harry sourly. Just as he was about to put the map away something odd caught his eye: _Albus Dumbledore_ was walking through the corridors, heading toward the Rysk's classroom. 

This was strange. No teacher except Snape, who practically lived in the dungeons, worked this late in their rooms. And even if any late night visits were exchanged, didn't professors go to the _Headmaster's _office...? 

Harry shoved his glasses up his nose, brow furrowing. 

**** 

Rysk glanced up sharply, startled, as a soft knock came at her door. "Who is it?" she asked warily. 

"Me," said a warm, amused, and entirely too familiar voice. 

The young witch rolled her grey eyes to the ceiling in a mixed expression of relief and annoyance. Quickly folding up the letter in her hands and shoving it into a drawer, she rose from her desk and walked to the door. She unlocked it and stepped aside to let Albus Dumbledore in. 

"Working so late, Carmen?" the Headmaster inquired pleasantly as he stepped through the door, silver beard shimmering in the candlelight. "And with such poor lighting." 

Rysk shrugged, backing toward a student's desk and jumping up onto it lithely. "What do you want, Dumbledore?" 

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in gentle surprise. "To inquire on how you're holding up, of course," he said, shutting the door. 

"At twelve-fifteen in the morning?" demanded Rysk sarcastically, glancing at the very mundane clock hanging behind her desk. 

Dumbledore followed her gaze and smiled. "Ah. You continue to favor more than Muggle clothing, I see." 

"The entire damn school's been talking about it," said Rysk sourly. She eyed Dumbledore with suspicion that didn't vanish as she replied, "I'm fine. It's good to be back in touch with what's going on." If she thought the Headmaster missed the sudden edge in her voice, she was sorely mistaken. "Strange to be called 'professor', though." 

"Why is that?" asked Dumbledore calmly, continuing to stand where he was as though he couldn't be more comfortable anywhere else. 

Rysk laughed. It was a cold and somewhate frightening sound, although it had been meant as a dry chuckle. It was the first thing Harry heard as he pressed his ear up against the door. He jerked back, scuffing his toe against the floor. He winced, but neither Professor 'Harrison' nor Dumbledore heard the scrape. 

"It's something you hear all the people from Harvard being called. Educated people." 

"You, Carmen," said Dumbledore in a gentle rebuke, "are one of the most educated people I know." 

"Really," said the new teacher coolly. 

"Yes," replied the Headmaster, not discouraged in the least. "You are well-taught in the ways of reality and hardship. Better yet, you have taken those lessons to heart and used them to your advantage." 

There was a silence. Harry realized he was holding his breath and carefully, carefully let it out in a slow sight. 

"It doesn't matter. What are you here for?" 

"There's no fooling you, is there?" said Dumbledore with a mixture of amusement and pride. 

"What are you here for?" 

"The letter, Carmen." 

Harry's eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. He couldn't see it, but inside the room Rysk had stood to her feet with a flash of her eyes. "Rysk," she snapped. "Or better yet, Harrison." 

"As you like it," replied Dumbledore. "But the letter isn't yours." 

Rysk stared hard at the old wizard for a moment before crossing the room to her desk in two strides and taking out the letter. "You never told me about this," she said in a dangerous tone, as though she were taking a snarl and drawing it out into a cold, terse statement. When Dumbledore reached for the torn envelope and its contents she pulled her hand back. "You never told me Lupin was here." 

"You never asked," replied Dumbledore good-naturedly. 

Rysk's eyes narrowed. "That's not funny, Dumbledore." 

"It wasn't meant to be," he answered gravely. "Carmen--" 

"You know _damn _well I've been out of contact for years!" she hissed, emphasizing the words with a flick of Sirius Black's letter. Her American accent, hard and sharp, contrasted starkly with Dumbledore's mellow speech. "I was practically the last to know about what happened at the Triwizard, for gods' sake!" 

Outside, Harry's heart had jumped into his throat, beating at three times the normal speed. Rysk had the letter? 

"What the hell is going on? How is Black out? _Alive?_" 

"There's no need to swear, Carmen." 

"I fucking say there is!" Rysk drew in a sharp breath, recovering her composure. "Dumbledore," she said in an unnerving, dead voice, "if he's not in Azkaban, then I'll go out and kill him myself. I did not risk my--" 

"He's innocent, Carmen." 

Harry's every muscle was bunched and tense. It took every ounce of self control he had not to rip open the door and tear the letter out of Rysk's hands. 

There was a silence. Rysk stared at Dumbledore. "He's innocent," she repeated. She stepped backwards and reached for her desk. Her hand slapped down onto it and her arm tremored as though her legs were about to give out. 

"He is. And, if you'll return the letter, I'll make sure you're brought up to date on everything concerning Lupin and the others." Dumbledore's blue eyes had ceased to twinkle behind his spectacles. He spoke gently. "You're causing one Harry Potter a great deal of worry over this." 

_Oh, God_, thought Harry, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching the Invisibility Cloak about himself. _He must have heard us this afternoon in the foyer._

"Aren't you just omniscient," she sneered, still using the desk to support her weight. Harry saw that her lips had drained of their color, even though they curled derisively. 

"I make it my business to know what goes on in my school," replied Dumbledore amiably. "I'm impressed, by the way. You must have warded it against the Summoning Charm quite well. It withstood three of them combined." 

Rysk had recovered. She stared at the Headmaster inscrutably before tossing the envelope to him. She must have enchanted it again, for it sliced through the air as steadily as a flying disc. Dumbledore caught the letter with deft fingers. "Thank you, Carmen." He tucked it inside his robes. "I'll see this is returned to Mr. Potter." He turned and made to quit the room, but paused at the door. "You've had no trouble with any of the other professors?" 

"No." There was a strange note in her voice. "No trouble." 

"Good." Harry quickly moved aside and flattened himself against the wall as the doorknob turned. "Good night, Professor Harrison," with a nod. 

Rysk said nothing. Dumbledore pushed the door open and stepped through, but before he could close it, "Dumbledore." 

The Headmaster looked over his shoulder. "Yes?" Harry held his breath; he was so close to Dumbledore he could reach out and touch his beard. 

"Fuck you." 

Harry was sure his face turned blue with the effort not to break out into hysterical, shocked laughter. 

Dumbledore's eyes danced again. "Spoken like a true American," he chuckled, and closed the door as Rysk turned away to her desk, so that the last thing Harry saw was her outlandish hair. 


	6. Fear of the Name

"Oh, no," muttered Harry as his stirring stick slipped out of his tired, numb fingers and clattered to the cold dungeon floor. He bent to pick it up, trying to keep his eyes open. 

He'd stumbled back into the Gryffindor tower around one o'clock in the morning and collapsed into his bed, bothering only to half-fling the Invisibility Cloak off. For the next four hours he had been continually plagued by questions running through his head and an agonizing anxiety over Sirius's letter that nearly tore up his insides. Fred and George had returned minutes after, their arms no doubt laden with sweets. Harry was sure they had fallen asleep instantly, whereas he was lucky if he had gotten more than two hours of sleep. He had missed breakfast, as well, waking up wide-eyed and frantic in a cold sweat from some half-remembered nightmare to find the dormitory empty. 

_At least I was on time for Potions, _thought Harry as he dully kept track of the counter-clockwise stirs under his breath. Five to the right, five to the left, push it away from yourself quickly once, then immediately add the cooling agent. One...two...three... 

Tired as he was, Harry was determined to avoid trouble with Snape today: the Potions master was in a terribly foul mood, and Harry, for the first time, couldn't blame him. He'd had no idea Jumping Jellybeans could be so destructive; the Slytherin-Gryffindor class had walked in to find shards of glass still on the floor, several holes burned through the floor (Harry shuddered to think exactly what the acids in _those_ vials had been intended for), and a sneering, nasty-tempered professor who looked no less exhausted than Harry did. More than once in less than ten minutes had Harry found himself the receiver of a hateful, suspicious stare. 

...four...five. One...two...three..._I didn't do it this time, Snape, you hook-nosed, greasy-haired, miserable--___

A sudden explosion made Harry stumble to the side, causing his fifth turn, which was supposed to be measured and slow, to jerk into a rapid circle. Thinking quickly, Harry stepped forward sharply and pushed the stick through the translucent red liquid, away from himself, and dumped in his pre-measured amount of cooling agent. The light blue powder filled the thin potion in smoky, billowing clouds before evening out into a lovely shade of lavender. 

Feeling close to alive for the first time that morning, Harry glanced over at the commotion while straightening his glasses: a crowd of students had gathered around Crabbe, who was covered in boiling, deep crimson liquid. His cauldron lay in half-melted pieces on the floor. Snape was pouring cooling agent over him with no thought to measurement. Much to Harry's satisfaction, Crabbe didn't escape without several burns on his arms and face. 

"Come on, you idiot." Draco Malfoy had pushed through the ring and given Crabbe a shove toward the doors with an apprehensive glance at Snape's thin, pale face, twisting into unprecedented rage. Malfoy ushered his thug out of the dungeon, Goyle lumbering behind, in record time. The entire class stared after them, struggling to bank their howls of laughter under threat of Snape's (increased) wrath. 

It was Ron who finally snickered, somewhere in the back of the room. Harry recognized his friend's voice, but apparently Snape didn't; the Potions master's black eyes flicked in cold anger over his students in search of the culprit. 

Harry, realizing that standing behind and just to the side of Snape was not a good idea, began to back away, but his empty stomach chose just that moment to make its displeasure known. A loud, hungry growl filled the classroom. 

That was everybody's undoing. Slytherins and Gryffindors alike erupted into laughter. 

Professor Snape turned sharply on his heel and glared down at Harry, who still stood a few inches short than he. "Do you find this funny, Potter?" he spat. 

Harry was the only one in the room who wasn't breaking down into mirth. "I'm not laughing, sir," he replied over the noise. 

Snape took a step forward, bringing his foot down hard into a puddle of still-hot Freezing Potion. Several drops of it flew up onto Harry's bare arm and immediately began to burn. 

"Ah, _God!_" Harry fumbled for the remaining cooling agent, grabbed a handful, and smothered it over his forearm. There was a hissing noise as the powder extinguished the heat. Before Harry could check to see if he had been burnt badly, his scar gave a warning throb. There was enough time left for his green eyes to fly wide before the dull pain ripped into a splitting agony. Harry clutched the edge of his desk as his knees buckled, one hand clapped over his forehead, his face distorting into a tortured expression. 

He couldn't even swear. It was as though he was under the Crutacious Curse all over again. 

After endless seconds, it passed, leaving Harry with only a light-headed, disoriented feeling. Panting, he opened his eyes and found his gaze instantly locked with Snape's. The Potions master was clutching his wrist, his knuckles white. His nostrils flared as he struggled to take controlled, even breaths. 

Somewhere underneath that sleeve, Harry knew the Dark Mark was burning. 

"Potter." Snape's voice trembled audibly in the dead silence. "Get to the hospital ward." 

Harry only stood there, frozen. 

"Are you deaf, Potter? I said _go!_" 

Hermione suddenly appeared behind Snape and shoved past him, hard enough to make the professor take a step for his balance. Snape's black eyes flashed dangerously, but Hermione took no notice. 

"Come on, Harry," she murmured, placing a firm hand on his back and steering him to face the back of the room. "Come on, you'll be okay..." Harry struggled to match Hermione's stride with his own shocked, stumbling steps. 

"Weasley, you stay here!" he dimly heard Snape snarl. 

His classmates parted--no, recoiled--as Hermione led him to the door. Before she could open it, though, it swung inward of its own accord to reveal Dumbledore in the doorway. 

"Professor Snape?" A hint of suppressed worry passed over Dumbledore's face as his sharp blue eyes took in Harry's pale face and Snape's shaken expression. "Is everything all right?" 

"Everything is fine, Headmaster," replied Snape tersely, reaching out to right an upset vial. He winced. 

"Of course, Professor...I was wondering if I could borrow Harry here for a moment?" 

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione spoke up, her tone subdued but still severe, "Harry needs to go see Madam Pomfrey." 

"Ah." Dumbledore laid a quiet, reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "In that case, I will escort him. Professor Snape." 

Snape nodded sharply. Harry was gently pulled into the corridor and led to the hospital wing, the hollow sound of the heavy door swinging shut reverberating in his ears. 

**** 

"What happened, Harry?" 

Harry reached for another slab of Chocolate and devoured it ravenously. Madam Pomfrey had tended to his minor burns and left in a huff as the Headmaster had insisted on speaking to Harry alone. 

"Harry?" Dumbledore was watching him with grave eyes. 

Harry looked away at the hospital floor for a moment. "My scar," he finally said. "It started hurting again." 

Dumbledore said nothing. 

"It...it's never hurt like this before," he went on. "Not even when...when..." The image of Cedric Diggory's dead body flashed across Harry's eyes; he flinched and didn't finish. His shaky breath seemed to fill the room as he dug his nails into the hospital bed. "I thought my head was going to explode." He stared down at his knees. "Volde...he's back, isn't he?" 

"Say Voldemort, Harry. Fear of the name only increases fear of the person." 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling as though he had just endured a sound beating. "Voldemort's back." 

"I'm afraid he is. But perhaps this might make you feel better," Dumbledore said at length. Harry's head jerked up as he felt a gentle pressure on the mattress; an envelope addressed to him in Sirius's handwriting was lying next to him. With a soundless cry of joy Harry snatched the letter up. 

"What...where..." Harry did his best to look surprised. 

Dumbledore was studying him keenly. "I suggest, Harry," he finally said, "that you get more sleep. Bags under the eyes are unbecoming." The Headmaster's eyes did not sparkle. 

Harry's mouth opened and closed twice without anything to say. With a wan smile Dumbledore turned and left the ward, closing the door softly behind him. 

_Fair enough,_ thought Harry, but Dumbledore's persistently sober mood troubled him. Unwilling to dwell on the implications, he quickly ripped the envelope open and anxiously pulled out his godfather's letter with trembling fingers. 


	7. He Didn't Say

_Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Just to assure you that yes, I am all right. I'm sorry for not being able to write much over the summer. Things have been busy. How is your fifth year going? Study for those O.W.Ls, don't blow them off like I did. Harry, please stay on school grounds this year. More than school rules are at stake, and be careful in Hogsmeade. Remus says "hi" and begs you to take care of our map. Don't use Hedwig to fly back, find the owl that came._

_Love,_   
_Sirius_

Harry set the yellowed parchment down in his lap and stared out the window to the lake, shimmering beneath the pale sun. He bit his lip, then jumped from the bed and wandered around the room until he found some parchment and a quill. It was a self-inking one, which eased his mind a bit about staining the white sheets. He sat down next to the bedside stand, spread the parchment flat on it, and scratched out: 

_"Dear Sirius,_

_I'm fine. It's good to hear from you. Hogwarts is fine, too. Don't worry, I'll be careful. Tell Lupin hello and that I'm using the map well."_

Harry hesitated. 

_"Sirius, I think you should know. We have a new DADA teacher. She knows you. She found this letter before Dumbledore got it back and gave it to me."_

His writing was becoming unsteady. 

_"I heard her threaten to hunt you down and kill you. I don't think she knew you are innocent until Dumbledore told her. I don't think she knows a lot of things."_

He scribbled this last line rather angrily. 

_"She says her name is Professor Harrison, but the map says she's Carmen Rysk. Do you know her? Please be careful. Ron and Hermione say hi."_

Harry's hand wavered. He desperately wanted to tell Sirius about his scar and the way Snape had felt the intense pain through the Dark Mark as well. But such news would only cause Sirius worry at the very least; at the very most (and most probable), it would send his godfather running back to Hogwarts, and not out of concern for Snape. 

_And damned if he gets into trouble because of _me. 

_"See you soon, I hope._

_Love,_   
_Harry"_

Well. That was that. Harry gently shook the parchment to help the ink dry before folding it up and tucking it securely into his robes. He slid Sirius's letter back into its envelope and hid that away, as well. After replacing the quill he quietly opened the door and stuck his head out into the main part of the ward. Madam Pomfrey was no where to be seen. Harry dashed back to the bedside table, grabbed the last slab of Chocolate, and snuck out of the hospital wing. 

The hallways were empty. The next class must have already rung. Faced with the prospect of going to Dark Arts, Harry was almost grateful for the delay of going down to the dungeons to pick up his books and check for homework. According to Ginny Weasley, the fourth year class didn't have Potions on Fridays for some strange reason. Perhaps Snape would be in the adjoining dungeon and he could slip in and out without being noticed... 

"...and I've never agreed with your abrasive attitude toward the students, but physically attacking one...! Severus, this is the last straw..." 

Harry pulled up short in the doorway at the sight that greeted him in the cold room: Madam Pomfrey was standing before Snape's desk, hands on her hips, glaring down at Snape throughout her tirade. If looks could kill, the Potions master would have been a pile of smoking ashes. 

Snape was sitting at his desk, being unusually quiet and not even looking at the enraged nurse. His forehead was in his hand. Harry saw that Snape's face had completely drained of color. He was writing with a quill that kept moving faster and faster and his hand was shaking; he seemed to be in a state of shock, of trying to make the world disappear. 

For the first time ever, Harry felt a pang of pity for Snape. Betraying Voldemort was not an easy nor wise thing to do. And as nasty and cold-hearted as Snape was, Harry was sure the man was frightened to death. The Dark Lord was risen, and everyone knew what the Dark Lord did to disloyal followers... 

"Albus will hear about this; he's been entirely too lenient with you...!" 

"Madam Pomfrey." 

"Oh!" Pomfrey started and turned around. Snape looked up sharply at the sound of Harry's voice. 

"It's all right," said Harry quietly. "He--Professor Snape didn't mean to. It was an accident. They're healed, anyway." As far as Madam Pomfrey knew, the burns were the only things that had ailed Harry, and he planned to keep it that way. "I came to get my books," he finished softly into the silence, walking over to a desk on the far side of the rom and gathering his materials. "Was there any homework, sir?" 

Snape was staring at him inscrutably. "No, Potter. No homework." 

Harry nodded, not surprised--who'd want to grade homework after _that_ ordeal?--and silently made his way back to the door. 

"Well, Severus," he heard Madam Pomfrey murmur in a much subdued tone, "I suppose I owe you an apology..." 

Harry glanced over his shoulder as he turned the knob. Snape was still staring at him intensely. On an impulse Harry half-smiled at his Potions teacher. Confusion and then renewed loathing flashed across Snape's face. 

**** 

"...so it'd probably be a good idea to keep your wand somewhere--" Rysk looked at Harry as he walked in unobtrusively. The young witch nodded him to a seat. Harry again felt her grey eyes linger a bit longer than normal on him before he became aware of the whispers that had broken out among the class like a dozen hissing snakes in tall grass. He felt his cheeks flame as he made his way to Ron and Hermione. 

"I know what happened last class," said Rysk coldly and with her usual disgust for the world in general. "Potter's alive and breathing, for those of you who happen to be blind. So shut up. And if that's how you try to whisper, I'd hate to hear you shout," she added scathingly as she turned back to the blackboard and continued to write. 

"She just loves insulting our intelligence, doesn't she?" someone behind Harry muttered darkly. 

"Keep your wand somewhere you can reach easily. Concealed, if you can manage it. And always keep it in the same place. If you draw your wand enough it'll become second nature sooner or later." 

"All right there, Harry?" whispered Ron. Very, very quietly. 

Harry nodded mutely, quickly laying out his ink and grabbing a quill to take notes. From the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy, near the front of the class, give him a nasty smirk. He must have left Crabbe in the hospital ward. 

"Back here," Rysk indicated a spot just behind her hip, "with your robes choking you isn't a good idea." No danger of that for her, Harry noticed--her own robes were just barely clinging to her shoulders, laying open blue jeans and a plain white shirt for all to see. A thin leather belt also ran through the jeans, although for what Harry couldn't fathom--Rysk hardly needed it. "Let me demonstrate." 

Half a minute passed and Professor 'Harrison' didn't move from her place on the desk. Then, suddenly, just as the class was beginning to shift uneasily, she lunged forward with terrifying speed at Malfoy, her hand flicking almost faster than the eye to find her wand. "_Draw!_" 

Malfoy yelled in panic, jumping out of his seat and fumbling for his wand. Beside Ron, Hermione gasped. Malfoy froze as the tip of Rysk's wand came to rest on his forehead. Real fear flicked across the blonde boy's eyes. 

Rysk stared down at Malfoy for a moment. "I thought so," she said coolly, pulling back and tucking her wand under her belt. Malfoy sagged and the entire class let out a collective breath. 

_Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.___

'Harrison' turned as her silver bell flew back down to her desk. "Stop!" The surge of students toward the door came to a screeching halt. "_I_ dismiss you. Not the bell. Sit down." 

Chairs scraped and books thumped. 

"I want you to work on drawing your wands over the weekend. When you come back, we'll work on some basics." Rysk's lip curled subtly. "If any of you can handle it, that is. Dismissed. 

"Malfoy, you stay here!" 

**** 

"Oh, man, Malfoy's in for it," said Harry as they walked down the halls, desperately trying to keep the conversation away from his earlier incident. He was all too aware of the glances being thrown his way. 

"She's not that bad," replied Ron in a strange way. "Harry what--" 

"Not bad?" said Harry quickly. "I thought you said she was a lunatic, Ron." 

Ron shook his head, looking uncomfortable, and almost ran into some burly seventh year. Hermione spoke up. "Harry, what happened? Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine. Just got a bit burnt," he answered briskly. "Ron, what happened--" 

"Not just burnt," interrupted Hermione persistently. Too persistently. "You looked like your head head was splitting open!" 

They rounded a corner. "I don't know what it was," Harry lied. He lowered his voice. "But I got the...the you-know back." 

Ron and Hermione stopped short right on top of the staircase. "_What?_" they chorused. 

"From Dumbledore." Harry did his best to grin happily. 

"Where did he find it?" Ron demanded, eyes wide. 

"I don't know. He didn't say." 


	8. Family Problems and Trick Stairs

Friday afternoons were free. Harry and Ron were stoically silent throughout lunch. Hermione stopped her attempts at conversation about midway through the meal. While Harry was eagerly stuffing everything he could find into his mouth, Ron didn't touch a thing, just prodded at the food on his plate. Harry watched his friend from the corner of his eye: he hadn't seen Ron break a smile all day, save for the incident in Potions. 

Harry felt like a stringless puppet, even though he ate with energy. The din of the Great Hall was lost on him like the incessant buzzing of a million flies. He hardly heard a word anyone said until Hermione spoke up again, and this time with results. 

"I hear Hagrid'll be back next week." 

Harry's head snapped up. He hadn't seen Hagrid for months and missed the half-giant sorely. "Is he?" he said. "I hope he managed to talk to the giants." 

"Mm," was all Ron muttered. 

Hermione pursed her lips and stared at Ron for a moment. "All right!" she said, jumping sharply to her feet and grabbing Ron's arm. "Up!" 

"Hey!" protested Ron as Hermione dragged him out of his seat. "I...I...I haven't finished...!" 

"You haven't eaten a thing," snapped Hermione and added in her bossiest voice, "We're going to talk." 

"_I _don't bloody think so," started Ron, but Hermione had already pulled him halfway down the Gryffindor table. Harry stared after them, still disoriented, before grasping the situation and (while grabbing a turkey leg) running after them. 

Between the two of them they managed to force a half-resisting Ron outside onto the grounds. By the time they had gotten to the lake the tall redhead was simply walking quietly between Harry and Hermione, eyes downcast and hands in his pockets. 

Hermione sat down. Harry followed suit and after a moment so did Ron. For a while they simply stared out over the lake, watching a gigantic, dripping tentacle breach the surface once or twice. When the image of the Beaubaxtons carriage rising from the deep and the memory of untying Ron from a wooden post guarded by merfolk grew too much for Harry to bear, he broke the silence. 

"What happened, Ron?" 

Ron closed his eyes. Hermione was looking at him worriedly. "What do you mean?" 

"You bloody well..." Harry stopped at Hermione's warning glance. He took a breath. "Rysk--or Harrison--her detention. What happened?" 

"Oh," said Ron lifelessly. "That." 

They waited. 

"Why'd you get back so late?" prompted Harry. 

"Were you up?" 

"I heard you come in." 

Hermione shifted agitatedly. 

You see..." Ron trailed off and sighed heavily, staring at the neatly-trimmed grass. He didn't look embarrassed or angry, simply tired, more tired than Harry had ever seen him. Ron began pulling up blades of grass, one at a time. "See, she...well, you know she's a lunatic." 

"Ron! I thought you said she wasn't that bad." 

"She isn't. For a lunatic." The blades of grass were turning into fingerfuls. "She just told me I shouldn't attack people unnecessarily. Stuff McGonagall would say. Then she got out the Daily Prophet to read until it was time for me to go and saw Dad's name in there. Moment she found out we were related she started grilling me like a prisoner of war. Looked like she was going to pound something. Me." 

"She didn't..." began Harry. 

"No," said Ron, shaking his head sharply. "She didn't touch me." 

The day was pleasant. Birds chirped in the air and the lake was serene; Hermione had disposed of her black robes because of the heat. But Ron's words were turning everything bleak. "Anyway, she kept asking questions until I let slip about Percy." 

"Percy?" said Harry, startled. Hermione nodded grimly. 

"I thought so," she said quietly. 

Ron threw her a sidelong glance but continued. "Yeah. See..." He ran his hands over his face and through his red hair. "See, the Ministry's split. Fudge is being an asshole..." 

Hermione said nothing. 

"...and he's basically made it either him or Dumbledore. He refuses to believe that...that You-Know-Who is back." 

"And Percy's taken his side. Against your family," said Hermione softly. 

"_Fudge _this and _Fudge _that and _You-Know-Who? Impossible!_" spat Ron bitterly. "He's become so much of a prat with his head stuck up his ass he refuses to see that anything's gone wrong. Getting rid of Crouch just made him fall in love with Fudge." He took an unsteady breath. "You should have seen him and Dad go at each other at home," he said with a humorless laugh. Harry started as Ron viciously ripped an entire fistful of grass, roots and all, from the ground. "He's tearing our family apart," finished Ron tiredly. 

Harry was staring at Ron in shock. Of course! It had been so obvious; he might have guessed. Hermione apparently had. She was looking at her knees with a sad, grim set to her lips. 

"Ron. Why didn't you ever say anything? You never let on." Harry searched his memory for any clue that something was amiss at The Burrow. None of Ron's letters over the summer had hinted at such a thing, and Ginny and the twins had been acting normally, as well. "Neither did Fred or George," he added with a furrowed brow. 

"We don't _talk_ about him," said Ron harshly. Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and he bit his lip. "I--I figured it'd be better not to say anything. I don't want to be the one who tells the entire school. Malfoy'll do that," he said gloomily. "And besides. You have enough troubles of your own, after last year. Didn't want to..." 

"_No!_" exclaimed Harry with force. "No, Ron, nothing like some stupid Voldemort is going to make me too busy to listen to you!" 

Both Ron and Hermione flinched, but the former seemed pleasantly surprised by the conviction in Harry's voice. 

"You stupid git," laughed Harry, "don't ever think that again!" 

**** 

It was a considerably more light-hearted Ron who walked back into the castle with them fifteen minutes later. "Let's go down to the kitchens," he said, grabbing Hermione's arm in front of the marble staircase. "I'm starving." 

They laughed. 

Harry cheerfully followed Ron to visit with the house-elves. Dobby was ecstatic to see him. ("Harry Potter! Harry Potter is come!") S.P.E.W was not brought up once. Or perhaps only twice. Their arms were heavy with treats when they took the way through the dungeons back, and all was right with the world. 

If only it were so. 

"Oh, it's Snape!" hissed Hermione, whipping back around the corner and pressing herself against the wall. She was walking ahead and had the lightest load. Ron and Harry froze. 

At that moment came a lost first year, searching for the Ravenclaw common room. The poor boy with brown hair had forgotten about the trick step that had trapped Harry inches from disaster and discovery last year. Harry cringed as the first year's foot fell right through the stair. Then he swore under his breath when he saw that the small waif of a thing had dropped all the way to his waist and was desperately clinging on with his fingers. 

The Ravenclaw boy gave a mighty yell as he grappled with the slick carpet and slipped. Snape's head snapped up, alarmed. 

"_Wingardium leviosa!_" 

The boy jerked in midair, wavered, and floated. His eyes were wide in fear. Snape started to gently let him down when Professor 'Harrison' appeared from a side corridor. 

Both Harry and Snape saw her at once. A sizzle of pain bolted up Harry's scar. "_Ah!_" His hand flew up to his forehead, but before his fingers touched skin the sharp stab had disappeared. 

Snape, on the other hand, suffered worse effects. For the second time that day the Potions master clutched at his wrist, lips turning white, and swore through gritted teeth. His wand dropped from his hand. The Ravenclaw boy let out a shriek as he began to plummet to the ground. 

"What the--_windgardium leviosa!_" 

The first year, flailing wildly, jerked to a stop two feet above the hard stone tiles. Taking a breath, her eyes never wavering, Rysk slowly lowered the boy to the ground. 

Snape took no notice. His eyes were closed as his fingers tightened even more around the Dark Mark, as though trying to crush bone. 

The young Ravenclaw took one look at the two teachers and immediately spun on his heel and ran, his footsteps echoing through the corridors. 

"What happened?" Rysk demanded of Snape, who was clutching his wrist to his stomach by now. "What's wrong?" 

Professor Snape's head snapped up and his eyes opened in a sudden, swift movement as his black gaze locked with Rysk's grey one. Rysk's face was cold and unreadable as she stared at him. It seemed to Harry that an incredible, silent battle of wills was taking place. Snape's eyes narrowed and a look of great concentration passed over his face, as though he was trying to wrap his mind around something. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione held their breaths. 

As Rysk slowly tucked her wand away, an expression of disoriented pain distorted Snape's features, the same one that had driven him from the High Table the first day. He held his fingers to his temples, trying to straighten up. Rysk continued to watch him without saying a word. 

The Potions master spun on his heel and walked swiftly back to the dungeons, still holding his head. 

Rysk watched him go silently. Her grey eyes gleamed in an odd way, a knowing, grim way. Her head turned toward Harry and others. 

"_Run,_" hissed Hermione, shoving Ron and Harry with her shoulder, "_run!_" 


	9. What About the Headache?

Ron, Harry, and Hermione were at the foot of the marble staircase before they dared stop running. Ron looked over his shoulder to make sure that no Rysk was coming after them. 

"Bloody..hell," wheezed Ron, doubling over as best he could with an armful of food. "What in the dickens was i>_that/i>_ all about?" 

"I dunno." Harry struggled to recover his breath, mentally noting that he had to be in better shape when Quidditch started up. "Did you drop anything?" 

Ron shook his head carelessly, as if he didn't care to think about it at the moment. 

"Why?" 

Both boys turned, confused. Hermione was staring raptly at the marble staircase, her eyes glazed as they always were when she had a deep, insightful thought. 

"Why...what?" ventured Harry when Hermione said no more. 

"Why...did Snape do that?" said Hermione slowly, then wheeled around to face Ron and Harry, quite excited. "Don't you see? Harry, you remember, in Potions, your scar--" 

"Shh-h-h!" said Harry vehemently. "Keep it down!" 

Hermione looked sheepish. "Sorry." 

"Come on." Harry led Ron and Hermione to the suit of armor in the shadow the staircase. After a bit of searching, he found a silver latch attached to the back of the empty knight. He let his sweets and food to the ground, removed his robes, and swept his loot into them, making a sack of sorts. With his hands free, Harry glanced over his shoulder and lifted the latch. The stone rumbled as the knight and the section of the wall it was attached to moved forward then slowly slid aside. 

"Wicked," said Ron with a grin, following Harry's example with his food. 

"It leads right up to our tower," explained Harry as he ushered them inside. Once inside the cool, dim passageway he found the latch in the corner and sealed them in. 

"Uh...Harry?" 

Harry turned. Ron was looking up and up and up at the narrow, rickety, spiraling staircase that seemed to reach up for miles. "Do we have to..." 

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're afraid of heights too," said Hermione pompously as she bunched up her robes and slung the make-shift bag over her shoulder. To prove her point, she walked briskly up the first few turns and called down. "Well, come on!" Her voice echoed quietly throughout the small chamber. 

Harry refrained from making a comment about riding on hippogriffs and simply gave Ron a gentle nudge toward the stairs. Taking a breath the youngest Weasley boy began climbing the steps. "No trick stairs?" 

"I don't know," said Harry, remembering to lie in time. "I've never been up it." 

"Then how did you--" 

"Anyway, listen!" Hermione was walking quickly up the stairs with no reserve at all, talking fast. Harry sprinted to catch up with her and after a moment so did Ron, his hand never leaving the railing. "Remember, you scar hurt in Potions, right, Harry?" 

"Yes..." he agreed cautiously. 

"And I saw Snape grab his wrist." A slight shudder racked Hermione's shoulders. "The Dark Mark." 

The stairs were only wide enough for a single file line. Behind him, Harry heard Ron gulp. "You scar only hurts when...when You-Know-Who is around, right, Harry?" he said in a small voice. 

"Or when he's feeling angry," said Harry quickly to allay Ron's fears, careful to leave the word 'murderous' out. 

"Well, he must have been feeling vicious," announced Hermione darkly. She threw Harry a look of concern over her shoulder. "I thought you were going to scream or something." 

_I couldn't have even if I'd tried. _They were halfway up now. Harry didn't say anything aloud; just nodded. 

"So what're you saying?" demanded Ron. 

"Snape!" said Hermione, exasperated. "You-Know-Who must have been calling his followers to him." 

"Bet you he would have gone in the blink of an eye, too, if we hadn't been there," muttered Ron vindictively. 

"No," said Harry, surprising himself with his strong reaction. Hermione stopped, and so did Ron. Harry felt both of their eyes on him. 

"What?" 

"He wouldn't have. Remember, he saved me in first year? And he betrayed Voldemort." Harry shrugged, trying to bluff. "Just pointing that out." 

Hermione gave him a searching look before turning back around and resuming the climb. "Right. He didn't go. But that's not the point; the point is that Harrison--Rysk, Harrison, whatever--when she showed up just now, did you _see _that look on Snape's face? He looked as bad as you did, Harry." 

"Your scar hurt too," said Ron suddenly. "I saw you." 

Hermione started. "It did?" 

Harry muttered an assent. "So what are you _saying?_" he pressed. 

Hermione hesitated again in a way that unnerved Harry; his friend was impossibly clever. "I'm _saying _that Rysk caused Snape that second pain." 

"Oh, come off it," scoffed Ron, but he sounded uncertain. "Rysk's not You-Know-Who." 

"My scar hurts when it senses danger," said Harry quietly, a sudden, unpleasant thought striking him. 

There was a silence as they continued to walk. 

"Well, we know Rysk's dangerous," wavered Ron. 

Neither Hermione nor Harry dignified that with a reply. 

They had reached the top of the staircase. Harry squeezed past Hermione, pushed the picture open a crack, and peeked through. There wasn't a soul in sight. He opened the picture all the way, tossed his robe-bag through, then followed it. Hermione and Ron came after him, the latter forced to duck his head. Hermione shut the picture (a brown rabbit hopped through the grass) and together they wordlessly walked to the Fat Lady. 

"Password?" 

"Celery." 

The common room wasn't as crowded as it usually was--no doubt many of the students were outside on the grounds--but to Harry it felt as though there were several too many. The earlier excitement of the day had worn off and, combined with lack of sleep, Hermione's words had made him more exhausted than ever. 

"I'm going to bed," he murmured. 

"What? It's only four...oh!" exclaimed Hermione guiltily, staring at the bags under Harry's eyes. "Yes, you have to. Go on..." She pushed Harry toward the boys' dormitory. 

Harry staggered up the steps, his bag of sweets feeling like a two-ton elephant in his hands. Ron followed him, looking mildly concerned, and sat down across from Harry as he tumbled into bed, flinging an arm across his eyes. "God," groaned Harry. 

"Rest up, mate," said Ron, rising and drawing the hangings. Harry closed his eyes, about to let blessed sleep claim him, when Ron said suddenly, "Harry?" 

"Mm." 

"Sorry, but what about Sirius's letter?" 

"Oh." Harry tried to make himself sound alive. "Here." He forced himself to sit up, unknot his robes, and fish through the sweets to the correct pocket. His hand brushed against two pieces of parchment. He winced; he really should send Sirius a reply, but a trip down to the Owlery was out of the question, not if he wanted to survive the weekend. Pulling out the envelope he stuck it through the curtains. "You can read it with Hermione." 

"Thanks." Ron took it from his fingers eagerly. "Did you reply yet?" 

"Yeah," said Harry sleepily. "I said hi for you and Herm..." 

Another silence. Maybe Ron had padded off..."Harry." 

"Yes?" He allowed annoyance to creep into his voice now. 

"What about the headache?" Ron's voice sounded apologetic, yet urgent. 

"What?" 

"Snape. Remember, he saw Rysk at the table the first day and started grabbing his head. He did it again today." 

Harry's eyes opened and he stared up to the ceiling for a moment. It had never struck him before. "The headache..." he mouthed silently. "What _about_ the headache..." 

He fell asleep. If Ron said anything more, he didn't hear it. 

**** 

Night had fallen over Hogwarts. The stars shone brightly in the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. It was a marvelous sight to behold, so many bright jewels in a fathomless sea of black, but it wasn't enough to hold the attention of the Hall's single occupant for long. Carmen Rysk lay on the edge of the Slytherin table, staring up at the night sky. Then she sat up and jumped to the floor and paced the length of the Hall for several minutes before stopping and studying the stars again. 

This is how Professor McGonagall, hearing footsteps ringing out on the tiles, found the young witch in the middle of the Great Hall, her head tilted back and her figure absolutely still, hands clasped behind her back. McGonagall watched the new teacher silently for long minutes from the high, arched entrance before Rysk's voice said coldly, "Who's there?" 

McGonagall knew she shouldn't have been surprised, but she was mildly impressed and startled nonetheless. Careful not to let this carry through to her voice, she walked into the Hall and stood beside Rysk. "What are you doing up so late?" 

Rysk glanced at McGonagall. "Walking." 

"I see," said the professor stiffly, trying to mask her automatic, baseless dislike of Rysk. Well, perhaps not baseless... 

"Tell me," said Rysk at length, something of an amused sneer in her tone, "do you act this way to all former Slytherins, or is it just me?" 

McGonagall pursed her lips and didn't answer. 

"Can't give me a detention now. Sucks, huh?" Despite her words there was no real accusation in Rysk's voice. No one but McGonagall or Dumbledore could have recognized this absence of anger as a silent concession.. 

"You needn't be so abrasive," said McGonagall coolly. Rysk shrugged. 

"I think I have a right to be, considering all those little details you and Dumbledore conveniently forgot." 

McGonagall shot the younger woman a sharp look. "Knowing you, Rysk, we figured that you would find out on your own." 

Rysk laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. 

McGonagall was relatively unfazed, but she was one of the few who wasn't by Rysk's overall presence. "Albus told me you know, then." 

"I know as much as he told me," said Rysk, making no secret of the fact she didn't trust the Headmaster much farther than she could throw him. 

"If Albus said he told you everything, he told you everything," snapped McGonagall. 

"Oh, of course," replied the younger one, her icy voice dripping sarcasm. 

McGonagall glared daggers at Rysk and bit out, "I trust you are having no problems with the students?" 

"None at all," said Rysk coolly. "It's the teachers I have a problem with." 

A look of resigned shock passed over McGonagall's face, as if a blow she had been bracing herself for had finally landed. She closed her eyes. "What happened?" Her voice was terse and tired at once. 

Rysk reached back and undid her ponytail, letting a fine curtain of blonde hair that glinted silver under the starlight swing down to the middle of her back. The streaks of bright crimson caught torchlight and glowed like fresh blood on a sword. Ignoring McGonagall's disapproving frown she leaped backwards onto the Ravenclaw table. "He's trying to remember," she said quietly, grimly. "Whenever he sees me, he tries." 

"We anticipated this," said the Transfiguration professor. "Just try to avoid him." 

"Oh, I never thought of _that._" 

McGonagall sighed. "Carmen, we never would have asked you to come over if we weren't desperate. But Remus couldn't stay, and, all things considered, when it comes to combat you're the best in the field." Rysk's eyes narrowed at the mention of the werewolf's name. "The fifth years need this training." 

"You mean Harry Potter does." 

A rueful smile twitched at McGonagall's lips. "There never was a way to fool you." 

"No." She began tying her hair back again. 

The two witches remained silent in each other's company for a long time. 

"What are you thinking?" asked Rysk at length, watching McGonagall with piercing grey eyes. 

"Just what would happen if he ever did manage to break the spell and remember," replied McGonagall with a touch of dryness. 

"Which is?" prompted Rysk softly, coldly. 

"It involves you trying to get out of the castle without having to kill anyone," said Minerva grimly. 

Rysk tilted her head to one side; beneath the mirthless amusement was genuine respect for the other witch. "You know what I like about you, McGonagall?" 

"I'm afraid to ask." 

"You don't sugar-coat things." 


	10. Red Snow

The next day Harry made a trip down to the Owlery during the middle of breakfast and found Sirius's owl. The little brown thing looked much refreshed after several days of rest, just as Harry felt after a nice night and then some of sleep. As Harry was addressing the envelope to Sirius, ready to tie it to the owl, Hedwig flew from her perch to his shoulder and nipped his ear a bit more sharply than usual. 

Harry winced but smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Hedwig," petting his snowy white owl, "you can't deliver this time." He lowered his voice. "We don't want Sirius getting in trouble, do we?" 

Hedwig looked ruffled but also seemed to understand. With an affronted but soft hoot she flew into the air, circled near the ceiling twice, then took off to the Great Hall to fly about outside. Harry smiled after her before turning back to the brown owl. "You look a bit like Pig, you know," he murmured, tying the letter about its leg securely but not too tightly. He held out his arm and the owl hopped onto it. Its heavy, hooded eyes gave it a sleepy look. "Go to Sirius," whispered Harry and prompted with a push of his arm. The brown owl leapt into the air, flapped its wings, then soared off. 

Harry watched after it for a moment, hands in his pockets, before stepping over the owl droppings and making his way back to the Great Hall. 

**** 

No reply came from Sirius the next day. Harry hadn't expected one; logically speaking, such a quick response was nearly impossible. Still, he had hoped. 

Classes started again on Monday. Hermione had to throw herself into disciplining younger students, reporting to the Head Boy or Girl, and yelling at Peeves whenever he caused trouble in front of her. Potions was horrible, as usual. It may have just been Harry, but Snape seemed consistently more out of temper than before; hardly a surprise. What i>_was/i>_ a surprise was that Harry didn't have to bear the brunt of it. As a matter of fact, Snape never looked twice at him throughout the entire week. 

"If I didn't know better," muttered Ron once, "I'd think he was scared of you." 

Defense Against the Dark Arts was interesting, if not altogether comfortable. Professor 'Harrison' began going over the basics of combat with them. Harry wished she ignored him as much as Snape did; she seemed to pay special attention to everything he did, though at times it seemed so subtle Harry was sure he was imagining things. 

"Watch that grip, Longbottom," she'd say crisply over Harry's head while passing by. "Thumb, pointer, middle, relax everything else but keep it firm." Harry would look down at his own hand and see that he was making the same mistake. 

Hermione pointed out with satisfied amusement the way Draco sneered or glared poisonously at Rysk every time her back was turned. "His detention must have been worse than yours, Ron!" she exclaimed delightedly. 

Within two weeks Rysk had sharpened her fifth year class's reflexes to a needle-sharp point. At least when it came to drawing wands. 

"All right, you can get them out now. Next time we'll see if you know which end to use," she informed them coldly. 

"How dare she," hissed Malfoy to Goyle, "Does she think we're dimwits?" 

"Has Slytherin lost the House Cup for three years straight, Malfoy?" said Rysk with sarcastic pity, proving her acute sense of hearing once again as she didn't even look up from organizing papers. Malfoy's cheeks turned a slightly deeper shade of white. The entire Gryffindor side snickered. 

Good news came in the form of a notice tacked by Hermione to a board in the Gryffindor common room: Transfiguration classes were now doubled with Hufflepuff, not Slytherin. 

"Thank God," said Neville with a scornful laugh, very unlike himself. Ginny had given him a sidelong but approving glance. 

McGonagall apparently shared Neville's sentiments. She had walked into class the first day after the change with what Harry swore was a spring in her step. Quidditch practice started that same day. Angelina Johnson had been made the new captain of the Gryffindor team, and during first practice Harry and the rest saw a very new--and frightening--side of her. 

"Move it, move it! That's one more formation you'll have to do, don't screw it up again!" 

"She's worse than Oliver Wood was," groaned Harry to Ron, collapsing into bed at an ungodly hour of the night, sore from dodging bludgers. Much as his muscles protested, he managed to fling a pillow at Ron when his friend started laughing. 

The days blurred into weeks and the weeks merged into months. Harry and his friends were consumed with making mischief (during the day; Filch had posted Mrs. Norris in front of the Fat Lady and _she _was unmovable), homework, Quidditch games, and studying for their O.W.L.'s. (Hermione was notorious for being awake until one in the morning. "Oh, I do hope I get a decent amount of them!"). 

Before Harry knew it, it was two weeks to Christmas holidays. This came as both a relief and an agony that twisted his insides in a most sickening manner: Sirius's reply still had not come. 

**** 

"Staying for the holidays _again_, Potter?" drawled a cold voice from behind as Harry signed his name on the sheet for staying over break. "My, I never knew one's family could hate you so much." 

"They're not my family, Malfoy," said Harry, surprising himself with the calm amusement in his voice. He turned to face the Slytherin boy. "And besides, you should be the last person to be surprised--the rest of the world hates you enough as it is." 

A dangerous look crossed Malfoy's face, but Harry simply shrugged and walked into the Great Hall. His eyes widened in alarm as he saw Hermione helping Ron lug his trunks across the Hall. 

"Ron!" He ran up to them, grabbing a bag from Hermione. "What's going on?" 

"Oh, hello." Ron gave a wan smile, but his eyes looked strained. "Dumbledore gave me early leave. Mum and Dad need me." 

Harry blinked as they walked along. "How--" 

"Bill's picking me up," explained Ron. "Sorry, Harry. I guess you're on your own this break." 

"It's all right. Tell...tell your family I say hi." 

Ron nodded. He obviously was dreading what awaited him at The Burrow and was yet more terrified of the idea of not being there. Harry and Hermione winced as they opened the doors and were greeted with a blast of cold and snow. 

"Is he crazy?" shrieked Hermione over the wind, pointing. Harry and Ron followed her finger, squinting against the flurries, and saw Bill Weasley striding through the snow over the grounds to them. He was wearing nothing but a casual suit and robes (and of course a shark's tooth dangling from one ear). 

"Hello," called Bill, waving, once he was within earshot. He jogged up the steps and sized his little brother up. Ron was nearly level with him. "God, Ron, you've grown." 

"Wh-wh-where's your coat?" asked Harry through chattering teeth. Bill blinked. 

"Oh! It's a warmth spell," he explained. "Here." Bill pulled out his wand and pointed it at Ron. "_Envelop infaredus._" 

The air around Ron shimmered for a moment. He blinked, then abruptly stopped shivering with a slow smile. "Hey..." 

"C'mon, Ron," said Bill briskly, picking a few of his bags. "Bye, Harry, Hermione." 

Harry waved at Ron, who had turned back to glance at them at the bottom of the stairs, but Hermione chose that moment to fly down to him despite the freezing cold and toss her arms around him. Ron looked both embarrassed and pleased at once. The wind flung what Hermione was saying away from Harry, but Ron heard. The youngest Weasley boy closed his eyes and rested his chin on Hermione's head for the briefest moment before pulling back, saying goodbye, and hurrying after his brother. 

Hermione turned and walked quickly up the stairs. "What're you smiling at?" she snapped at Harry. The intended effect was negated by the trembling of her lower lip. Harry ducked his head and followed Hermione back inside. 

**** 

Harry felt as though his body had turned to lead. It was the day before Christmas. Hermione had left a few days before, and still no word from Sirius. Harry's worry was escalating into real fear. Oh, he'd reasoned with himself: "getting the old gang together", whatever the hell that meant, was probably taking a lot of work. After all, they _were _fighting Voldemort. If Harry could only follow what was happening concerning the Dark Lord, his mind might have been eased a bit. But such was impossible: the Ministry--_Fudge's_ Ministry--had a choke-hold on the Daily Prophet, and no articles about the rise of Voldemort was allowed within a square mile of the paper. Hermione still had a hold on Rita Skeeter in the jar, but it was times like this Harry wished he could send the sensationalist writer on every lead that even smacked faintly of the Dark Arts. _She'd_ let the wizarding world know, all right. 

The Great Hall's ceiling reflected falling snow that never touched the ground and dinner was about to start. Harry was among one of the few students staying over vacation. There were but ten or twenty at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables and barely five at Slytherin. Everything was relatively quiet. Harry was grateful; his nerves were frayed enough already. He had resolved to find a way to see Dumbledore after the meal and inquire about his godfather. 

"Merry Christmas, Harry," said Seamus from farther down the table. His parents were in the Bahamas. Harry smiled and nodded. 

"You, too." 

Movement from the High Table drew Harry's eye. Dumbledore had just stood to make his eve of Christmas speech which, if past holidays were anything to go by, promised to be interesting. 

"Well," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "it seems that we've completed half a year in no time at all..." Dumbledore trailed off, his blue eyes suddenly unfocused and wandering, as if searching for something. He turned to say something to McGonagall, and Harry noticed that Snape was missing from the room. 

_That _was quickly remedied. 

"Headmaster!" The Potions master stumbled into the Great Hall from the foyer. Unmelted snow was in his long black hair and covered his disheveled robes; he must have come in through one of the side doors leading to the grounds. "Headmaster, round up the students! Get them to their rooms! Quick!" He paused for breath. 

The Hall was frozen until Professor 'Harrison' leapt to her feet, knocking her chair over. "What the hell is--" 

"_Do it!_" roared Snape. 

In a flash McGonagall and Sprout were among the House tables, urging students from their chairs and ushering them out into the foyer. Harry's eyes never left Snape and Rysk as he was jostled along with the rest. He saw the latter fly at Snape and grab him by the robes, demanding what was happening. 

Harry saw Snape's lips move, and there was no doubt what they said: "_It's Black!_" 

Harry gasped as he was pushed past the arched egress into the foyer. He immediately wheeled about and began plowing with all his might through the other students, violently knocking any who stood in his way aside with his elbows. 

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter, come back here at once!" McGonagall shrilled. Harry paid her no heed. 

He dashed out into the Great Hall in time to see the tail of Snape's black robes disappear through the doors on the far side. Already breathing heavily, Harry broke into a full, unchecked sprint, wrenched the doors open, and ran outside into the snow. 

A burning pain flared in his upper arm as he ran, looking for any sign of the teachers. He must have torn a muscle. 

The howling wind quickly froze his skin and flaked his lips. A muffled shout reached Harry's ears; he stopped and looked sharply around. There by, the lake, were Rysk, Dumbledore, and Snape, all staring up into the sky. With a sinking feeling of dread Harry followed their gazes. 

High, high above the ground swooped three broomsticks. Brilliant red flashes of color streaked between the faint dots that were the riders up in the dark winter sky. Harry felt like vomitting--that was the color of the Crutacious Curse. 

He was absolutely certain it was Sirius on one of those broomsticks, dodging the curses as best he could. 

A body suddenly tumbled from the sky, an unconscious woman in hooded black robes. Harry watched with bile rising in his throat as she plummeted to the frozen lake with a sickening _crack._ The ice split and the dead woman's broken body sank into the cold water. 

"Fucking Christ!" he heard Rysk swear, carried to him on the wind. 

One of the broomsticks suddenly dove at a nearly-vertical angle to the ground. After a brief hesitation the other one pursued at breakneck speed. The two riders grew larger until Harry could see that the one who had initiated the dive was indeed his godfather. 

The wizard chasing him had his wand out. Harry saw him scream a curse that leapt from his wand in red lightening. 

This time, it hit. 

Sirius Black screamed in impossible agony and tumbled off of his broom, twitching and flailing in a way that made Harry sick to his stomach as he fell nearly thirty feet to the ground. 

"_NO!_" 

Dumbledore wheeled about at the sound of Harry's shriek. Sirius landed on the edge of the lake; Snape flinched as something snapped loudly. Black continued to twist and writhe, screaming his voice hoarse. 

The Death Eater landed safely, an insane look of glee in his eyes as he held the wand on Sirius. He had barely stumbled off of his broom before Snape yelled, "Expelliarmus!" 

The Death Eater's wand flew from his hand, but the wind blew it away from Snape's grasp. Sirius jerked once and lay still like a macabre parody of a stringless puppet. Blood began to rapidly stain the snow around him. 

"Accio wand!" Dumbledore commanded, recovering the wand. At that moment Harry came plowing through the snow, shouting wildly. The Headmaster caught hold of the young boy's arm. 

"Let me go!" cried Harry, fighting to free himself and go to his godfather. Snape roughly caught hold of his other arm. "Let me _go!_" 

Only Rysk saw what was happening in time: Voldemort's servant had produced a long, wicked blade and was already lunging at the helpless Black. Rysk launched herself at the Death Eater with unnatural speed. One brutal kick to the back of the knees and she was on top of him. The dark wizard snarled and slashed with his knife at her heart. Without the leverage to block it, Rysk twisted to the side. 

It saved her life. Instead plunging into her chest the knife only bit deeply into her side, slicing through her robes and Muggle clothing. Blood spilled instantly. 

The young witch shouted in pain, one hand clutching at the wound. With the other she pinned the Death Eater's wrist down into the snow. A terrifying, vicious light bordering on insane had entered those emotionless grey eyes. Harry saw her bloody hand flash down to her leather belt and grab something he couldn't see, but her fingers were definitely wrapped around something solid. 

Dumbledore seemed to know what she had drawn. "No, Carmen! _Expelliarmus!_" 

Nothing happened. Shock and then horrified realization passed over Dumbledore's features. 

Snape acted. He let go of Harry's arm and flew at Rysk, slamming into her and knocking her to the ground beside Sirius. "_Stupefy!_" roared Dumbledore, pointing not his wand but his hand at the dark wizard. The Death Eater's head fell back and his body went limp. 

Harry pulled out of Dumbledore's grasp. "Sirius!" He fell to his knees beside his godfather, not feeling the way the cold snow burned into his skin. Sirius's eyes were still rolled to the back of his head and he was struggling to breathe. White bone protruded from an arm and a leg, both of them bent at sickening angles. Harry cradled Sirius's head and the injured man slowly looked up into his eyes. "Harry..." 

"Shit," he heard someone snarl. Rysk was pushing herself up on her hands, apparently ignoring the ghastly wound in her side. Her blood spread over the snow to meet that of Sirius's. 

Sirius's eyes focused on her. "Rysk," he gasped after a moment. "Heard...you were here..." Then he passed out. 


	11. The Dream

Harry's blood was pounding in his ears. The merciless wind seemed to steal his breath and replace it with an icy emptiness so that no matter how hard he gasped for air he never got enough. "Help him!" he yelled hoarsely, looking up at the teachers. 

First he saw Snape over his shoulder. The professor's face was contorted by a combination of nausea and deep, twisted satisfaction as he stared at Sirius's prone form. Harry felt his breathing quicken further in impossible rage as Snape turned his back and swept over to the unconscious Death Eater. 

Gentle hands tugged Harry away from Sirius. Dumbledore was at his side, his face grim and concerned, but his fingers were steady. "A splint," he murmured, delicately probing near the fractures in Black's limbs. 

Harry's stomach heaved and he quickly looked away from the blood. "Can't you...can't you heal..." 

"I dare not," said Dumbledore tersely. "This is Poppy's field, not mine. He is most likely still in shock." Dumbledore tapped Sirius's arm with his wand, "_Ferula_," and several bandages appeared from the air, wrapping around the fracture and binding it tightly to a splint. Black twitched and moaned; Harry winced. 

"It's a Death Eater, Headmaster." Harry heard Snape's voice say emotionlessly from around Sirius's feet. "But I don't recognize him." 

Long, thin fingers came into Harry's field of view. They rested on Black's hip. Slowly, slowly, Harry raised his head and saw Snape's other hand on Sirius's broken leg. The black sleeve of his teacher's robes were pulled up, up, exposing pale skin and a horrific tattoo of a skull with a snake issuing from its mouth. 

_Death Eater._

Harry's green eyes blazed as he stared at that mark, that ugly, damning mark. The rage flared again--how _dare_ he?! 

"Get away from him!" screamed Harry, throwing himself over Sirius's body into Snape. The Potions master was knocked backwards by Harry's attack. A wave of snow flew into the air as Snape struggled to dislodge Harry without injuring him. 

"Potter, get off him! Potter!" 

Rysk's order was lost on deaf ears. Only one thought ran through Harry's mind: that Snape was a Death Eater, that Snape wanted to kill his godfather. His teacher's hateful words in the Shrieking Shack two years ago hissed with the wind in Harry's ears. _"Give me a reason. Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will."_

Harry's trained Seeker eyes saw Snape's hand grab his wand; with a viciousness Harry didn't know he possessed he knocked it out of the older man's hand. "Stop it!" snarled Snape, "Potter!" 

"_Stupefy!_" 

An explosion went off inside Harry's head, and he knew no more. 

**** 

"I am displeased, Peter." Lord Voldemort's red, slit-like eyes and the terrible anger in them contrasted sharply with the smooth, reassuring, and familiar tone of his voice. "Displeased indeed." 

"M-m-master." Peter Pettigrew cowered before the Dark Lord. The cave was large but damp and dark; the floor was treacherous. As Voldemort advanced Wormtail took a step backwards and tripped over a protruding rock. The rough ground drew blood from Pettigrew's hands. "Master, please, surely you know--" 

"Of course I know, Peter," said Voldemort silkily. "I know everything that concerns my followers." Wormtail remained on the cold stone floor, curled in on himself, as Voldemort crouched down next to him. "Every movement." His voice grew still softer, still more terrifying. "And every failure..." 

Pettigrew whimpered. His eyes darted wildly to two black hooded figures standing at their posts like silent statues of death. Neither of them moved. 

"My lord, it...it wasn't my fault. Goyle, he...he...." 

"It wasn't your fault?" A serpent's amusement coiled through Voldemort's voice. "I put you in command, Peter, did I not?" 

There was a silence. "Y-y-yes, master." Barely a whisper. 

"And thus you are responsible for everything that happens to those under your command." Voldemort drew his wand slowly, torturously, as he spoke. "Are you shirking your responsibility, Peter?" 

"No! No, my lord!" gasped Wormtail, "Never!" 

"Then you are _responsible _for the _deaths _of Malfoy, and Goyle, and Tantra!" hissed the Dark Lord, the thin, poisonous coating of kindliness disappearing from his tone. "As you are for the fact that Dumbledore's Aurors have knowledge of our operations far too early into the game." Pettigrew whimpered and shook in overwhelming fear. "This merits punishment, Peter." 

Wormtail's eyes grew unnaturally wide; his shriek was one that froze blood. "No, master, please, no!" 

_"Crucio!"_

Pettigrew screamed and writhed and twitched, his silver hand clattering against the stone, but no sooner had Voldemort cast the curse than two Death Eaters appear at the mouth of the cave, one holding a torch. Between them they held a limp body by its arms; the prisoner's head dangled limply. The two servants recoiled at the sight of Wormtail flailing and shrieking on the cave floor, his eyes empty and his mind gone, but one of them recovered in time to shout over the heart-twisting noise: "Master! We have a prisoner!" 

They forced the hapless man's head up roughly for Voldemort to see. His face was bruised and a trail of still-fresh blood glistened from the corner of his mouth. 

It was Lupin. 

A soft, unearthly voice was suddenly heard in the cave. It seemed to expand and fill all space, gently echoing off of the rock walls. _"Enervate."_

Harry shot bolt upright in the hospital bed, covered in cold sweat, one hand clapped over his burning scar. 

**** 

The faces in the room confused Harry...there was Dumbledore...Lupin, a cave...and Wormtail, something about Voldemort... 

"Harry? Harry, how do you feel?" 

The words didn't register; Harry was desperately trying to salvage the scattered fragments of his dream. Lupin. Something about Voldemort and Lupin... 

"Harry?" 

He blinked. The room ceased to swim as Albus Dumbledore's tired but kind face came into focus. His breathing gradually slowed. Snape stood behind Dumbledore, staring emotionlessly at Harry. 

Snape. The Dark Mark. Sirius... 

"Where's Sirius?" he blurted out wildly, slapping the hand on his forehead down onto the bed. "Where is he? Is he all right? Did--" 

Dumbledore held up a hand as he stepped closer and Harry fell silent. The Headmaster sat down beside him. For a brief moment, his blue eyes lingered on Harry's scar. "Sirius is fine," he said quietly, calmly. "Madam Pomfrey is tending to him." 

"What? Where? No! You can't--Pomfrey, she can't--" 

"Madam Pomfrey, Harry." Dumbledore studied him gravely. "You must promise not to get excited, otherwise I'll be chased from this ward." 

Harry nodded, shaking from the effort of controlling himself. 

"I've explained Sirius's situation and his wrongful accusation to Madam Pomfrey, and she's been quite cooperative." Harry blinked, finding this hard to digest. A dry smile tugged at Dumbledore's lips. "She's in such a state of shock she can't do much _but_ go along," he clarified. Harry nodded. 

"Is he...is he awake?" 

"No, he hasn't come around yet." 

Harry stared at the white sheets covering his knees. "How...how long have I been out?" 

"About an hour. Your shortest time ever." 

Harry smiled wanly in spite of himself, but it was short-lived. "Do...do you know what he was doing here? What's going on?" He glanced over Dumbledore's shoulder at Snape, who stood still as a statue, a faint sneer on his lips. 

"I'm afraid," said Dumbledore somberly, "that I won't be able to give you an honest answer until Mr. Black himself comes around and tells us." 

"Oh." Harry dropped back against the pillows in a daze. He was wondering whether or not he should make any mention of his strange dream when the door opened and Madam Pomfrey stepped in. 

"Headmaster." She sounded as disoriented as Harry. "Professor Harrison wants to see you." 

An emotion Harry couldn't identify flickered in Dumbledore's eyes. "Of course, Poppy--Severus, if you could watch over Harry?" Not the best of ideas, perhaps, but give the circumstances Harry supposed there wasn't much else Dumbledore could do. "Rest, Harry," he murmured, then rose and followed Madam Pomfrey out of the ward. 

Harry closed his eyes. The pain in his scar was fading and so were all the remaining shreds of his dream. Except for Lupin. Something happened to Lupin. His brain, not quite yet under his control, continued to replay the events of what seemed eons ago. Sirius on his broomstick, the Crutacious Curse, Rysk's blood spreading over the snow... 

"What happened to Ry--Professor Harrison?" he said suddenly, having quite forgotten. 

There was a moment of silence before Snape replied, as though he wasn't quite sure that Harry had been addressing him. "What did you call her?" 

"Professor Harrison," said Harry, hiding a wince. He'd almost let her real name slip. He raised his neck a bit to look at Snape. 

"She was tended to," replied Snape shortly. After a moment he added, "Blood loss, mainly." 

Harry stared up at the ceiling, picking at the covers. "Who stunned me?" He regretted the question the moment it left his mouth. 

Snape's voice grew even colder. "Professor Harrison did. By the way, Potter, you face expulsion for physical assault on a teacher. And minus a hundred points from Gryffindor." 

Harry laughed, shocking himself. It was a scornful sound. "I doubt I'll get expelled," he said. "Sorry, Snape." 

"You will address me by my proper title," snarled Snape. Harry sat up, his eyes flashing. "Ten more points from Gryffindor." 

"Do you think I care?" challenged Harry. 

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?" His voice was soft and dangerous as he took a step toward Harry. 

"Do you think I _care?_" Harry threw off the sheets and jumped to the floor. His legs wobbled but held. He raised his chin defiantly. He would only get into more trouble continuing like this, he knew, but something in him wouldn't let him stop. The slow, boiling rage that had been sparked outside in the snow was rising to the surface, and nothing could be done to stop it. "You and your schoolboy grudges, you wouldn't even help him at first. You were _glad!_" Harry's voice quieted from a yell to the spiteful blade of a knife. "What was that, an old Death Eater habit?" 

Snape had turned livid. "_Silence!_" he bellowed, shaking in rage. "You don't know what you're talking about, fool boy!" 

It felt good. Harry didn't want to admit it, but it felt so painfully good to provoke Snape to such anger; because what he had said _hurt_, and he knew it. "I know you have that _thing_ on your arm!" he retorted recklessly. 

Snape jerked as though he'd been slapped. "_This?_" Harry heard something in Snape's voice crack despite the vicious hiss it had become. The Potions master rolled back his sleeve and held up his arm, displaying the Dark Mark and advancing on Harry. "This mark that's damned me in the eyes of the world, that damned me in the eyes of your righteous, strutting father and his righteous, strutting friends?" Harry took at involuntary step back at the tortured expression that twisted Snape's face. "Does it disgust you so much, Potter?" 

"_You_ disgust me," said Harry harshly. 

They stared at each other long and hard for several moments. Hatred blazed in Snape's eyes, hatred almost as intense as the kind that he harbored for Sirius. Then he turned sharply on his heel and stalked out of the ward, nearly ripping the door off of its hinges as he went. 

Harry let out a breath, shaken. He had felt pure hatred, true loathing, for the first time in his life. It was an all-consuming feeling, and it was also disturbingly welcoming. Reassuring. 

He dropped onto the bed. For some reason, he desperately wanted to call his words back. 


	12. 

Harry emerged from the comforting arms of dreamless sleep just as the pale sun slanted in through the window. He blinked, staring up at the ceiling. All was quiet in the ward; none of the other beds held an occupant. Harry stretched and twisted to sit on the side of the bed. 

His school uniform--someone had removed his robes--was dry but stiff. Harry tugged at the sleeves a bit before noticing the cup of water beside the empty vial of sleep potion on the bedstand. He downed it in almost one gulp, surprised at how thirsty he was, then stood and went over to the window. 

The young sun shimmered weakly over the new-fallen snow. Everything looked so pristine, so clean and perfect. Harry touched his fingertips to the glass, searching for any trace of red that had stained such pureness just the night before. As far as his eye could see, there was nothing but whiteness. 

The lake was not so reassuring. Its mirror-smooth coating of ice was marred by a jagged, gaping hole in the center. Somewhere, far below that black water, Harry knew a dead woman was in the clutches of the giant squid. 

With a shudder he turned away from the window. 

"God, no! Stop it! Please, stop it, stop it, get away!" 

The desperate, wild voice came from outside the ward, muffled and distant but no less startling for it. Harry flew to the door and ran out into the corridor. 

"Remus! Look out! Get away from him, for the love of God, run, run...!" 

Harry followed Sirius's voice anxiously, running as quietly as he could through the hospital wing until he came to a closed door in the section reserved for serious emergencies. His hand froze on the knob, knuckles turning white as bone, as a new voice came from inside. 

"Black!" hissed quietly like a snake, but too feminine to be Snape. "Black, wake up!" 

Harry's hand twisted, but the knob disappeared from under his hand. As he gaped, the bronze of the handle slowly twisted into a mouth. "You're not authorized to be here!" rapped the door quietly. "What's the password?" 

"Let me in," demanded Harry breathlessly. 

"Sorry, no can do. Orders are orders." 

"You've got to!" said Harry hotly. "He's in trouble!" 

"There's someone perfectly competent tending to him," replied the door primly. 

"Stop it! Stop it!" Sirius's voice had risen to a shout. "Please, no! Run!" He sounded like a madman. "Remus!" 

"Let me _in_, damn it!" growled Harry, drawing his wand and pointing it at the mouth--although what he was going to get out of threatening a door, he didn't know. "That's my godfather in there!" 

"Oh, a relative, are you?" inquired the door, unperturbed. "Well, why didn't you say so before? Hm. I suppose I could allow you viewing privileges..." 

A circular section of the door misted into fogged glass and then cleared, so that right at Harry's eyelevel there was a hole straight into the small room. Through it he could see Sirius, thrashing about on the bed, while Rysk held him down. She, too, had discarded of her robes. Harry could see the slender but prominent muscles that flowed beneath her arms. "Black! You're going to wake the entire damn school, _wake up!_ You're dreaming!" 

Sirius did not cease his incoherent ranting. Rysk's jaw worked, then she raised her arm and delivered an open-handed blow to Sirius's face. 

Harry made an angry, choked sound in his throat and stepped forward to force the door open. His hand grabbed air. "Nuh-uh-uh-uh-uh," chided the door. 

A muscle in Harry's cheek jumped. "Professor!" He pounded on the door. "Professor Harrison, let me in!" 

Rysk whirled about, her eyes narrowing dangerously right at Harry, but she didn't seem to see him. "Who is it?" she snapped. Had Harry not been sick with anger and worry about his godfather he would have surely been cowed. 

"It's me; it's Harry--let me _in!_" 

Rysk's face loomed in the magical window before the door opened. Harry took a step back as she stared at him. "Come on in then, Potter," she said coolly after a moment, as if what was happening behind her was of no more consequence than a fly. Harry slipped past her and crossed the room to Sirius's side in two strides. 

"_No!_" Black's body convulsed with this final shriek; Harry recoiled. Then Sirius's body went limp and his eyes snapped open, frightened and glazed, staring into Harry's face uncomprehendingly, chest heaving. 

"You had a nightmare." Harry looked over his shoulder at Rysk's cold face. 

"Wha...what..." Sirius's blank gaze flicked to Rysk as though he'd never seen the strange young witch in his life. 

"Shh." Harry awkwardly took a hold of Sirius's hand and squeezed it gently. "It's all right now. It's okay. You're at Hogwarts." 

"Hogwarts." Sirius blinked. His face was as gaunt and sunken as when Harry had first met him; what little weight he had gained was lost. Realization flashed across his godfather's face. "Dumbledore--I need to see Dumbledore, right now...!" He tried to sit up and cried out as he put weight on his injured arm. "_Ah_...!" 

"You broke an arm and a leg, Pomfrey fused the bones last night, and she says you're in the worst state of exhaustion she's ever seen _so lie back down_," ordered Rysk in clipped tones, stepping forward swiftly and shoving Sirius back into the pillows. 

"Let me _up_," rasped Black, fighting weakly, "You don't understand--I need to talk to Dumbledore...!" 

"You need to eat!" exclaimed Harry. His hand had accidentally fallen on his godfather's stomach and found it caved in. "My God..." 

"You idiots!" cried Sirius, "They've got Remus! _They've got Remus!_" 

Rysk blinked. Her lips tightened grimly as she reached out and touched Black's forehead with the back of her hand. "Fever still isn't gone," she murmured. 

Black shivered under her cold touch. "I'm not delirious, Rysk!" he spat. 

Harry pushed past Rysk. "What do you mean?" he asked in a low, urgent voice. Something terribly important was pricking at the very edges of his memory. "Sirius, what are you talking about?" 

Black looked torn. He opened his mouth as if to say something, shut it, and said firmly, "Get Dumbledore." 

Harry swallowed at the terrible, tortured despair in Sirius's eyes. Before Rysk could stop him, he backed away and flew out of the room. Dashing through the hospital ward, he found the door and threw it open... 

"Oof!" 

"Harry?" Dumbledore's kind eyes looked down on him with a ghost of their usual twinkle. 

"Headmaster!" Harry hastily disentangled himself from the old wizard and stumbled backwards. Dumbledore caught him by the shoulders. "Headmaster, he's up, he wants to see you...!" 

**** 

Harry sat silently by Sirius as he reported to Dumbledore, visibly shaken but no longer frantic thanks to a calming potion. 

"They have Remus, Dumble..." Black took a breath and stole a glance at Harry. "Headmaster." 

Dumbledore nodded gravely, radiating calmness. "What happened?" 

Sirius started to sit up, but Harry put a restraining arm across his chest. With a look of both frustration and hidden tenderness his godfather fell back onto the bed. "We...we...did you get my last letter?" 

"I did, in October. You were trailing Voldemort's followers." 

Harry stared hard at Black, who steadfastly avoided his eyes. He swallowed, licked his lips, and nodded. "Yes. We were trailing them. For a month, everything seemed to be fine. We were extremely careful. Voldemort himself we never got close to," Harry felt an invisible shudder run through Sirius's body, "but he had put...Pettigrew in charge of the main group." 

The terrible fury, barely suppressed, that twisted Black's face at the mention of his one-time friend was almost tangible. Harry saw Professor 'Harrison' catch Dumbledore's eye for the briefest fraction of a second. 

"We followed them, spied on them. They're preparing for something...for _something_...and we almost found out. They were talking about some...Initiation. The Initiation. Arabella figured that it must have been such and such night...God, I can't even remember the date." Sirius put a hand to his forehead. Harry bit his lip, feeling helpless. "A few days ago. We took up our posts. They gathered in a clearing in Ireland, small trees, clear, open sky...I decided..." Sirius's voice cracked. "I decided a few of us should hide in the surrounding foliage. To get a better look." He sounded absolutely disgusted with himself. 

"Remus volunteered, along with Arabella." Sirius closed his eyes. "Something...something went wrong. A late Death Eater...walked right over where Remus was lying, he couldn't get out of the way..." A shuddering breath. "All hell broke loose." 

There was a heavy silence. "Who have we lost?" 

Black looked up suddenly at Rysk. "Who have we lost?" His voice was hoarse and edged. "_THEY HAVE REMUS! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! WHAT ARE YOU SITTING THERE FOR, DO SOMETHING, DAMN IT!_" 

Sirius had thrown Harry's hand away and sat up as though lightening had struck him. His shoulder connected hard with Harry's cheek; he reeled backwards, one hand to his face. Black stared at Harry, looking dazed, looking shocked, then bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured tiredly. "Harry, I'm sorry." 

"Sirius." Dumbledore's voice was gentle but urgent. 

"Yes. Yes. Losses." Sirius didn't look up. "Everyone got out alive. We killed three of theirs." Vicious triumph flared in Black's voice but quickly died away. "I chased after them...the ones that took Remus. They got away, got me lost, sent two of their own to capture or kill me, I don't know which..." His next words were broken, strained and exhausted and hollow in their anger. "They have him alive. God, I wish he was dead. I wish he was dead." 


	13. Failure

There was a moment of silence. Harry hesitantly rested a hand on Sirius's shoulder, who flinched but didn't pull away. A feeling of being watched overcame him, and he looked up to see Rysk staring at him, her eyes smoldering. 

"Well. I'll try and get in contact with the others, then." As Dumbledore said this he reached out and touched Rysk's arm. She broke eye contact with Harry to look sharply over at him. 

"Here, I can--" Black started to get up but Harry forced him back. 

"Don't even try to walk; you'll drop dead." 

"Harry's right, you need your rest." Dumbledore touched Rysk's arm again as he turned to go. She seemed to hesitate before following after him out the door. "Get some sleep, Sirius. I'll send Poppy up to check on you." 

The idea of leaving Sirius wasn't one that sat well with Harry. "Headmaster--please, I can stay with him." 

Rysk lingered in the doorway and glanced back at him. "Yeah, sure." She looked to Dumbledore coolly in a manner that almost challenged and didn't quite ask for approval. Dumbledore simply nodded with a faint, reassuring smile at Harry before reaching out and gently closing the door. 

"Sirius?" asked Harry softly once they were alone. His godfather didn't look up. "Sirius, what's going on, what happened? You had me worried out of my mind." 

"I _told _you what happened!" snarled Black forcefully. Harry flinched backwards, alarmed. Sirius looked up at him, the flash of anger gone. He stared at the purple bruise blossoming over Harry's cheek. Guilt flickered over his sunken eyes and his head dropped into his hands. "Sorry," he said hoarsely, "sorry." 

"S'all right," said Harry a little too cheerfully, trying to hide how hurt he was. 

"I got your letter." Sirius rubbed at his forehead and laughed hollowly. "God, I couldn't even answer your letter." 

"It's all right," repeated Harry with more conviction, starting to feel self-centered now. "I never knew exactly how...'busy' you were." 

This drew a more genuine chuckle out of his godfather. "Yes. Yes, we were busy." His voice trailed off into a harsh whisper. "And I destroyed everything. They put me in charge and I failed them." 

"Who?" 

Sirius drew a deep breath. "I suppose you have a right to know," he said wearily, raising his head. Harry remained silent. Sirius closed his eyes. "All that's left of the Order of the Phoenix, that's who." 

Harry blinked. "Order of the..." 

"Phoenix. Dumbledore's hand-picked Aurors. Along with a few unofficial individuals." 

Harry stared. "You're a...an..." 

"Yes." 

"Well." Harry looked about the neat, white room for some kind of confirmation. Instead his eyes fell on a chair in the corner; he started to stand before remembering to take out his wand. "_Accio chair._ That explains a lot," he muttered, shifting to sit on the chair as it scraped to a stop in front of the bed. 

"We have to collect proof and intelligence to present to key individuals and gain enough support from both the Ministry and other factions to fight the war against Voldemort," recited Black tonelessly. 

"That your mantra?" 

"Of sorts. You know the rest." 

_Not as much as I'd like to_, thought Harry, but one glance at Sirius's thin body and the exhausted slump of his shoulders was enough to shut him up on the subject. The man's every muscle was visibly trembling. "Lie down." Black ignored him. Harry repeated it with authority he didn't know he possessed. "Lie down, Sirius." 

Sirius's head fell forward again. His long black hair went with it, curtaining his face. After a moment he gave in and slowly lay back, drawing the covers about himself. He curled up on his side, facing Harry, staring into nowhere. Harry frowned, disturbed. Sirius seemed more than just tired. He seemed _defeated._

"How do you know Rysk?" he asked suddenly, wanting to get Sirius talking again, to be alive. 

Sirius shifted on the bed and Harry noticed he didn't meet his eyes when he replied. "From the old days. Here at Hogwarts." 

"_Hogwarts? _She's ten years younger than you!" 

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" Black chuckled wistfully. "No, she can't be more than two years younger." He smiled wryly at the disbelief on Harry's face. "Do I look that old?" 

Harry shook his head. "So you're old enemies?" 

"Enemies?" Sirius arched a brow. "What makes you think that?" 

"She wanted to kill you, didn't you get the letter?" 

Black let out a long, thin sigh, letting his eyes fall shut. A spasm of torment passed over his face. "She knows I'm innocent?" Harry winced, sensing that he had probed at a gaping wound that would remain forever fresh in his godfather's soul. 

"I don't know if she believes it," his voice turned sour, making no secret of his general dislike of Rysk, "but she's been told." He tilted his head. "What's going on, Sirius? Why's she going under another name?" 

"It's a long story, Harry." Sirius sounded more weary than ever. 

Harry's brow creased and his green eyes narrowed for half a second, but his conscience firmly stated that enough was enough. "Sorry." He accompanied the quick apology with an awkward but genuine attempt to brush the hair out of Sirius's face. "Go on, go to sleep, else Pomfrey'll knock you out anyway." 

"I don't want to dream," Black murmured quietly, his fingers curling tightly over the covers. 

It unnerved Harry to see Sirius so helpless. He had always known his godfather as a fiery man, the one that had suffered twelve years in Azkaban and emerged with sanity intact; but now it seemed that his failure to save Lupin had left him a ghost of his former self. Harry bit his lip and rested a hand on Sirius's back, suppressing a gasp at how bony his shoulders felt and resolving to make him eat as soon as possible. "You'll be too tired to," said Harry, trying to imitate Pomfrey's or even Rysk's brisk, certain tone of voice. "Besides, I'm here. It'll be all right. Go to sleep." 

Black looked up at Harry with gratitude. After a while, his eyes drifted shut. 

This is how Madam Pomfrey found Harry when the door swung open to let her in. She, too, looked tired; no longer shocked but simply resigned. "The Headmaster wants to see you in his office," she said softly to Harry's questioning expression. 

Harry hesitated, loathe to leave Sirius's side, but carefully stood (wary of stiff joints) and squeezed his godfather's shoulder before walking to Pomfrey. When he looked at her expectantly she opened the door wider to reveal Snape standing several paces back. "Professor Snape will show you." At Harry's uncertain look she smiled wanly, reassuringly, before giving him a firm nudge toward the door. "I'll take care of him." 

Harry nodded, trying to muster up something of a smile for the nurse, before walking out the door ("Have a nice day, boy.") with a last glance over his shoulder. Then Madam Pomfrey closed the door and he was alone with Snape in the corridor. 

Harry tried to mask his discomfort as Snape stared at him emotionlessly for a moment. "Come on, then, Potter. The Headmaster's waiting." 

He led him out of the hospital wing and through the castle in silence. As Harry stared at the back of Snape's black robes, he couldn't help but wonder if the Potions master really did care whether he disgusted Harry or not. 

He had to bite his tongue to keep from apologizing. 


	14. Werewolf Rising

_Wow. I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed. I had no idea this fic would be so well received. :) Enjoy!_   
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The entire school was eerily empty. Neither Snape nor Harry encountered another living soul as they walked through the halls. Harry cleared his throat, a sound that echoed and was magnified. "Professor, where is everyone?" He watched the Grey Lady float by, becoming barely visible as she passed through a bar of pale sunlight. 

Snape didn't turn around or slow his pace. "All students have been restrained to their common rooms until lunch." 

"Oh." Harry massaged his sore shoulder absently. They made it down a staircase in silence before he hazarded again, "So what's going on?" 

"The Headmaster will tell you what's going on, Potter. Please cease your attempts at conversation; you are the last person I would want to engage in such." 

"Don't flatter yourself," muttered Harry under his breath. He flinched as the castle's walls, unhindered by the usual crowd of students, caught his words and hissed them back loudly. 

Snape stopped and slowly pivoted around. Harry grimaced. "You weren't supposed to hear that." 

Surprise flickered across Snape's cold eyes, mirroring Harry's own at his newfound daring. "No doubt," said Snape after a moment, his lip curling. Harry waited for the inevitable, "Five points from Gryffindor," but it never came. The Potions master simply turned and continued walking. 

They reached the statue of the stone gargoyle, no less ugly for the two years Harry had known of it. "Tiddle-tweak," said Snape, looking a bit more sour than usual. Harry hid a smirk--sometimes he wondered if Dumbledore's various eccentricities weren't created in the Headmaster's spare time for the sole purpose of annoying Snape. 

The wall behind the gargoyle split in two as the monstrous creature sprang aside. There was the spiraling case of stairs. They stepped onto it and circled higher and higher until a shining oak door came into sight. Snape and Harry stepped off of the peculiar escalator and the former rapped sharply on the door, ignoring the golden griffin knocker. A dizzy feeling of deja vu overcame Harry as the door swung silently in of its own accord, except this time instead of an empty, circular room full of curious instruments, he and Snape stood on the threshold of a large, circular room that seemed much smaller for the presence of Minerva McGonagall, Professor 'Harrison', and Dumbledore himself. 

"Ah, Harry. Severus." Dumbledore waved them inside; the door clicked softly shut behind them. "There's no need to worry," he continued, walking around the desk and sitting down in a plush, comfortable looking chair, "everyone here has been told everything about everything." Dumbledore looked at Harry as he said this, who in turn shot a quick look at McGonagall. She only nodded calmly. 

_Or has known._ Harry felt a sinking in his stomach. He wondered if 'everything' included exactly how Sirius had escaped two years ago. _Snape didn't kill me on sight, so probably not..._

Rysk snorted softly from where she leaned against the wall like a cat, an open look of skepticism crossing her face. McGonagall glared at the younger witch coldly. "So. What the hell do we do?" 

"Watch the language, please, Ms. Harrison; there's a student here," said Dumbledore mildly. Harry fidgeted, wondering exactly _what_ a student was doing here. "You see, Harry," Dumbledore was looking right at him again, stroking his silver beard, "we've brought you in because your input would be most valuable." 

"Wh...what do you mean?" 

Dumbledore let out a sigh through his nose, hesitating. 

"He means that you're the one with the scar, Potter." Harry whirled quickly to look at Rysk. She was still watching him with those grey eyes. "You're the only person we know who's seen Voldemort's new body and lived. So tell us about him." 

Harry's mouth opened and shut twice as his hand went up instinctively to touch his scar. "I...he kills people. That's all I know. He...still has followers. Malfoy and Avery and..." He broke off, running a hand through his untidy hair. "But you already know about those." He looked about the room uncomfortably and saw Snape staring fixedly at Rysk, his cold black eyes narrowed slightly. Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged glances. 

"Severus," said Dumbledore gently, "I would not ask you to become a spy again..." 

"I can try, if I must, Headmaster," said Snape, glancing away from Rysk. The conviction in Snape's voice surprised Harry. 

"I know," said Dumbledore sadly, his old face haunted by memories. "But you won't need to." A muscle in Snape's jaw jumped as the Potions master tried to control his own expression. "I'm sure all of you have gathered that rescuing Remus Lupin will be our top priority." 

"They'll torture him," said Snape emotionlessly. 

"All the more reason to get to him_ now_," snapped McGonagall, chomping at the bit in her own stern, reserved way. 

Rysk left the wall and walked over to where Fawkes, Dumbledore's pet phoenix, rested on his perch. Unlike the majority of those present in the room, Fawkes seemed to have no objections to Rysk as she stroked his head in a familiar way. "How long," she said, alarming in her quietness, "until the full moon?" 

Everyone stiffened, save for Dumbledore. Harry blinked hard as Snape jerked and stared at Rysk's back. Throughout the thick silence Rysk continued to pet Fawkes, her long fingers moving over the phoenix's beautiful plumage in thoughtful admiration. 

Dumbledore calmly swung his chair around. "Three days, Ms. Harrison." 

"Does that give us anything?" Rysk asked, turning and looking at Dumbledore. 

"Little is known about werewolves," replied Dumbledore dryly, "but--" 

"It's a commonly known fact among scholars that as transformation approaches the wolf inside the man grows more prominent; more easily touched by the psyche," rapped a cold voice. 

Harry looked up sharply at Snape. His black eyes were narrowed to mere slits as he tried to catch Rysk's gaze. The strange witch gazed fixedly at a point on the wall for several moments. Snape's breath caught; it seemed to Harry that the man was using all of his power to draw Rysk's eyes. Finally, she crossed her arms and raised her head, looking more analytical than ever. As one side of her shirt hitched upwards Harry saw a flash of white bandages. "So you're saying that he might...hide behind the wolf." 

A nasty smile twisted at Snape's lips; a distant light came into his eyes as he continued to stare at Rysk. "A werewolf...cares nothing for pain." 

The two teachers' gazes remained locked for long seconds. Harry felt the air crackle with the heat of a silent, incomprehensible battle. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "He's used to it." 

All eyes turned onto Harry, including Snape's. "What?" 

"Professor Lupin," explained Harry softly. "He's used to pain." 

Dumbledore nodded. "Right you are, Harry." For a fleeting moment Harry thought he saw gratitude in the Headmaster's eyes before he stood. "Remus Lupin is strong. But after reverting back into a man I believe he will be quite drained. Am I correct, Severus?" 

"Quite, Headmaster." Snape put a hand to his head. 

"Severus? Are you all right?" inquired McGonagall. She sounded a bit too keen. 

"I'm fine." Snape dropped his hand abruptly. "I'm fine." 

"Do you think they know?" Rysk's grey eyes flicked around the room in a scathing manner. "Do you think they know he's a werewolf?" 

_How do _you _know he's a werewolf?_ demanded Harry silently. The same thought was running through his Potions teacher's mind as well, if his expression were any indication. 

"They're going to find out," said McGonagall grimly. 

"What if they kill him?" blurted Harry. 

Dumbledore shook his head. "Voldemort is more persistent than that." A shadow passed over his twinkling blue eyes. "I doubt anything like a werewolf would bother Tom Riddle much." 

McGonagall winced. "Albus!" 

If Harry hadn't been standing next to Snape he would have never detected the tremor that ran through his body. Rysk's eyes remained hooded, looking almost bored, unfazed by the mention of the Dark Lord's name. 

Dumbledore looked solemnly at McGonagall. "Minerva, if we are to fight a war against Voldemort, I don't see how we'll manage it if we're afraid to even say his name." 

A grandfather clock marked with various stars and constellations hanging behind Dumbledore's desk suddenly chimed out the hour. Everyone turned as the celestial bodies set into the face of the clock rearranged themselves in a seemingly random way. It was twelve o'clock. 

"Lunch!" exclaimed Dumbledore, as though nothing else in the world mattered. "Minerva, Severus, if you could help the others in organizing the students...? I'll be down shortly; we'll discuss this further afterwards." 

Harry waited until Snape and McGonagall had walked past before turning and stepping out the door. 

"Harry, a word, please." 

Harry stopped and wheeled about as he felt a hand on his arm. Rysk pulled him smoothly inside the office before he could make a sound and firmly shut the door. With a gasp Harry tried to pull away only to encounter a grip stronger than iron. A second later she let him go. 

"That wasn't necessary, Ms. Harrison," said Dumbledore. His flashing eyes negated the lightness of his voice. 

"Come off it, Dumbledore." Rysk's accent was becoming even more pronounced. "He knows." 

Harry rubbed at his shoulder again; the muscle had been jerked by Rysk's sharp pull. "What's going on?" he demanded, looking at Dumbledore, "What is she talking about?" 

"Her name, of course," replied the Headmaster in an easy tone, hitching a hip over the desk. 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, looking back and forth between Dumbledore and Rysk. 

"Black let it slip," said Rysk disgustedly. 

"Carmen, Harry will be working with us. Now, more than ever, I need trust among my allies." 

Rysk arched an eyebrow at Dumbledore, her cold face a picture of sarcastic contempt. Harry cleared his throat and ventured, "Carmen Rysk?" Rysk glanced at Harry coolly. "So what do I call you now?" 

"You call me Professor Harrison." Harry was glad he couldn't see her face as she was moving toward Fawkes again: the sudden, dangerous iciness in her voice was enough to send shivers down his spine. "And don't you forget it." 

"Harry, you must understand: Professor Harrison's true name is not something to be tossed about lightly." Dumbledore's gentle but piercing gaze was every bit as unnerving as Rysk herself. "I expect you to treat this secret as you would your godfather's presence in this school." 

Harry swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir." _I am going to have a nice, long talk with Sirius over this..._

Rysk was gazing raptly at the starry clock. "Full moon's rising." 

"So is the werewolf." 

Rysk twisted her shoulders and glanced at Harry. "We have three days." She looked to Dumbledore. "Do you think he can hold out as long as that?" 

"It's more than we have any right to ask of any man," said Dumbledore gravely, folding his thin, aged fingers. "Werewolf or no." 

"I say we have a back up plan." 

"Which is?" 

Rysk was impossibly cold. "Kill him." 

Harry blinked. "What? No--" 

"Carmen." Dumbledore's voice was steely and his eyes were blazing. "Killing is not an option." 

Unlike Fudge, Rysk was not cowed in the least. "If they break him, then he's a liability. Hell, he's a liability right now--" 

"Killing is not an option." 

Professor 'Harrison' turned all the way around and leaned back slightly, steepling her fingers on her abdomen as she studied Dumbledore. After a moment she straightened and tightened her ponytail. "It's your Order," she shrugged, and with an impressive if unintended furl of her robes she turned and walked out. 

**** 

Harry stared after her. Once the door clicked shut he spun on his heel to face Dumbledore. The Headmaster looked deeply tired. "Who is she?" he demanded. 

Dumbledore looked up. "Don't you want lunch, Harry?" 

"I've lost my appetite," said Harry truthfully. "Who is she? Sirius said they went to Hogwarts together." 

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Hogwarts? No, I'm afraid they didn't attend together, Harry--your godfather's class had graduated when she started." 

"No," Harry insisted, "he said she's not as young as she looks." 

Dumbledore sighed. "Sit down, Harry." He waved a hand and a chair appeared behind Harry. Beyond surprise by now, he sat. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you the entire truth. Professor Harrison's past is her own, and a unique one. Out of respect and other reasons, I must omit several facts. However, I trust I can set your mind at ease." 

"I hope so," muttered Harry. "She's crazy." 

Amusement crinkled Dumbledore's wise face. "Crazy? Perhaps. No more crazy than you or me. Now, then, what's bothering you? I will answer what I can." 

"Snape," said Harry immediately. "He gets a headache almost every time he sees her. Once his Dark Mark burned, and my scar hurt." He tapped his forehead for emphasis. "Why?" 

"Alas, your first question is one I cannot answer." Dumbledore paused to fish through his robes for a lemon drop. 

"I won't _say _anything," insisted Harry hotly. 

"Please, Harry. I have every faith in your integrity." Dumbledore studied him gravely over his half-moon spectacles. "It is not you I am worried about, it is the safety of Professor Harrison." 

"Rysk? She--" 

"Professor Harrison, Harry." 

"Right, Professor Harrison--you're worried about _her_ safety?" 

"In a sense." Dumbledore smiled gently at the frustration that passed over Harry's face. He took a breath and tried again. 

"All right...then why couldn't you disarm her last night? What was she holding last night?" 

To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore chuckled. "Your teacher is not a conventional witch, Harry." 

_No kidding._

"Her expertise rests mainly in combat, although she's also competent in other fields. Her life experiences have given her a preference for Muggle weapons as well as the wand, and she is very deadly with such weapons, I might add. She carries a knife, enchanted along with its sheath for invisibility. The reason I could not disarm her last night was because she has performed a complicated charm on it that bonds a weapon to its owner's very will. Such a strong bond was one I could not break. That blade has saved her life countless times." 

"That explains the belt," breathed Harry to himself absently. "Is...does she still have it?" 

"I could not take it from her if I tried," replied Dumbledore, not sounding disturbed in the least. 

"Aren't you afraid she might...she might hurt someone?" 

"A student? No, Harry, Professor Harrison would never harm one of you." A dry smile tugged at the Headmaster's lips. "As much as things may seem to the contrary." 

Harry shook his head, dazed. "I don't understand." 

"I don't expect you to." A shadow passed over Dumbledore's eyes. "I hope you never do." He twisted around to glance at the mystical clock. "Lunch is halfway over, Harry. You haven't eaten since this time yesterday; I guarantee the moment you smell food you will be ravenous." 

"You're probably right," said Harry, trying not to think of empty stomachs. He didn't move from the chair. "Was she a transfer student, then?" 

"Of sorts." Dumbledore walked over to the door and held it open for Harry. Harry hesitated before standing and walking to the Headmaster. He looked up expectantly. "Your robes will be in your dormitory," said Dumbledore, the reassuring twinkle returning to his blue eyes. "Eat well." 

The door closed softly and Harry found himself on a spiraling escalator that had reversed direction. Only then did the last puzzle piece from the horrible night before click into place. 

_Oh, God. What did they do with that Death Eater?_


	15. I Never Thanked You

This burning question was turned over and over in Harry's mind as he stepped off of the stairs and out into the school. Several paces later the smell of food wafted into his nostrils, severe pains began twisting his stomach and the Death Eater was forgotten. He practically flew into the Great Hall, where many of the students were almost finished. 

"Harry!" Seamus Finnigan looked up from a raspberry tart. "Where've you been? What happened last night?" 

"Dunno, got knocked out," said Harry dismissively, hastening to an empty golden plate which became instantly heaped with all manner of delicious foods the moment he sat down before it. He began shoveling buttered rice into his mouth, answering Seamus's questions through grunts and nods. His fellow Gryffindor, although curious, quickly realized that Harry was in no condition to talk ("My God, when did you last eat?") and after a while left for the common room. 

Harry was left alone in the Great Hall, or so he thought. When he had finally eaten his fill he looked up to see McGonagall still sitting at the High Table. "Professor!" He jumped, nearly choking on chocolate pudding. McGonagall sat stiffly as a board while Harry coughed. "What are you doing here?" She didn't answer; simply arched an eyebrow, studying him sternly. Harry tried again, feeling discomfort color his face. "I mean...everyone's gone..." 

McGonagall stood and swept over to him. "That was a very foolish thing you did last night, Potter." 

Harry looked down. "I'm sorry, ma'am." He bit his cheek. "But he _is_ my godfather." 

"Potter!" McGonagall looked swiftly around the Great Hall, which wasn't empty enough for her. She pursed her lips and stared down at him. "Godfather or not, you could have been hurt. Even killed." She paused, drawing in a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh. Harry looked up sharply and saw smile twitching at the corners of McGonagall's stern mouth. "As for your attack on Professor Snape..." She bent down and murmured quietly, "If it weren't against every school rule, I'd be tempted to award you a hundred points or two. Well done, Potter. He's had it coming to him." 

A sharp stab of guilt lanced through Harry and the laugh he had felt welling up inside of himself suddenly died. Instead he ducked his head, as if hiding a grin. "Thank you, Professor." 

"Harry." McGonagall's expression softened; Harry started at being addressed like this. She sat down beside him. "You must realize that what's happening is no child's game." She held up a hand to halt his indignant protests. "You-Know-Who has returned; you know that better than any of us. If you can think of anything--_anything_--you felt or saw in your encounter with him you haven't told us already, we need to know." Her eyes lingered on his scar as she spoke. "This is important." 

"How am I supposed to help if I don't know half of what's going on?" demanded Harry, thoroughly frustrated. 

McGonagall's lips set into a hard line. "You will be told when you're ready." 

"Well, maybe I'm _not _ready, but I need to know _now._" 

The uncharacteristic sorrow that had mixed with Professor McGonagall's uptight demeanor deepened at the quiet anger in Harry's voice. "We were afraid of this," she said softly, grimly. She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, stiffly but genuinely. "Sometimes, Potter, ignorance is truly safer." 

"I don't care." 

"Don't be rash. You will care, when you're ready." 

"That's all I've been told for five years," said Harry bitterly. "I've faced Vol--You-Know-Who twice and lived. Isn't that enough?" 

McGonagall studied him keenly. "Accomplishments are important, but they are not everything." She sighed. "In time, Potter. All in good time." 

Harry said nothing. McGonagall stood, straightening her hat. "Go back to Gryffindor tower. I don't want anyone wandering about the school." She turned and left. 

**** 

"What's wrong, Harry?" 

"Hm?" Harry looked up to see Rosie Hether, a sixth year, sitting in the chair opposite. "What?" 

"Why the long face?" Rosie was a pleasant, earthy girl who was confident without putting on airs as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil did. There were times when she swore she should have been sorted into Hufflepuff. 

"What long face?" said Harry, trying to smile. 

"This one." Rosie dropped her chin into her hands and made an exaggerated pout. Harry couldn't help but laugh quietly. 

"I'm just tired. Bored. Ron and Hermione both aren't here this year." 

"Oh." Rosie nodded knowingly. "The Weasleys are having trouble." 

"How did you know?" asked Harry, surprised. 

Rosie grinned. "I know a lot." Her hazel eyes turned sober; she glanced around the empty common room and lowered her voice. "Most everybody knows about it. It's not pretty, what's happening with the Ministry." 

"Fudge with his head shoved up his ass," muttered Harry. 

Rosie laughed. "What did you say?" 

"Ron's quote." 

"I agree completely," said Rosie seriously. "Fudge is a bureaucrat through and through. He's been trapped by his own pride and his own red tape." 

"And you didn't even swear." Harry laughed again; he couldn't help it. Rosie made people laugh. 

"Oh, I didn't this time," answered Rosie darkly. She stood. "Chess?" 

Harry shook his head. "No, thanks. I think I'll just sit here and levitate things." 

Rosie laughed. "Whatever suits you. Hey, how are you studying for your O.W.L.s?" 

"Cramming the day before the tests," deadpanned Harry. 

"Hell, go for it." Rosie reached out a hand to lean against the chair and jumped as she received a static shock. "Ow!" Her foot jerked and kicked something under the chair; Harry leaned forward as a clear sphere the size of his fist rolled out into the open. It was glowing a bright red. 

"Neville's Rememberall!" 

Rosie knelt down to pick it up. "He must have forgotten it," she said with a wicked smile. "I'll keep it for him...although, you know, he's been much better about remembering things this year." 

"He's been much better about _everything_ this year," said Harry. "It's strange." 

"Oh, you don't know?" Rosie raised her eyebrows. "It's getting chilly in here." She pointed her wand at the cold fireplace and muttered under her breath. Blue flames leaped from the tip of her wand to the logs resting amid the ashes and began burning merrily. 

"Know what?" Harry scooted his chair closer to the fire. 

"His parents!" Rosie's face fairly glowed. "They're recovering." 

Harry shot to his feet. "The ones in St. Mungo's?" 

"Yes! They recognized him last summer. They're remembering things!" 

"Oh, my God." Harry dropped back into the chair, feeling a warm smile break out over his face. "That...that explains a lot." 

It was amazing, Harry reflected later after Rosie had left, how such simple news about a friend could leave one feeling as though the world was a beautiful, beautiful place, even if the feeling were short-lived. He clutched on to that lesson and that feeling as tightly as he could. Something told him that in the near future, it would be important. 

**** 

Harry didn't wait until bedtime to break the rules. Immediately after dinner he slipped into the shadow of the marble staircase in the foyer and waited until everyone else had reached the second floor. Only then did he cautiously lift the silver latch and retrieve the invisibility cloak from just inside the secret passageway. Once beneath it, Harry made his way silently to the hospital wing. 

Twice he was almost discovered by Filch, escaping narrowly by pressing himself very, very close to the wall. Even then Mrs. Norris seemed to stare right at him, her nose twitching and red eyes glowing, before slinking after her master. What he wouldn't give to kick that cat across the school... 

Several minutes later Harry found himself standing before the door to the ward. He reached out with painstaking care and gently, gently pushed down on the handle. Harry let out his breath and held another one in as he pushed the door inwards as slowly as possible. 

The hinges let out a spiteful creak. Harry cringed and froze. When no Peeves or Filch came swooping down on him he slipped through the door and pushed it softly closed. He padded quietly past the empty rows of beds to Sirius's room, only to find the door standing open. His eyes narrowed as he crept closer to stand in the doorway. Rysk was sitting next to Black's sleeping form inside the room. As Harry watched she reached out and shook his uninjured shoulder. "Black." 

Sirius let out a strangled cry and bolted straight up. Harry's hands balled into fists as Rysk clapped a hand over his godfather's mouth while grabbing the back of his head. Sirius struggled wildly for a moment before Rysk's quiet, "Shh!" sank in. Black went limp and after a moment Rysk released him. He pulled away, breathing hard. "What the hell are you doing?" he gasped. 

"Just looking for some conversation," she said coldly, pulling the chair closer. Sirius eyed her with apprehension. It seemed that only a Dementor could have had a worse effect on him. 

"Rysk, hear me out, I'm--" 

"Innocent. I know." 

"Then why're you looking at me like that? Stop it. You know that scares people." 

"Have you eaten?" 

Sirius blinked. "What? Yes, yes...Madam Pomfrey brought food up..." He passed a hand over his face. "What are you doing here?" 

"I'm supposed to watch over you. Give Pomfrey a break." 

Sirius's eyes suddenly lit with a driven, almost obsessed light. "Do you know what Dumbledore's doing?" he demanded, sitting up straighter. 

"Yes." 

"That's not _funny_, Rysk," snarled Black. 

"It wasn't meant to be." 

Sirius's muscles tensed. "Tell me," he said in a low, dangerous voice. 

Harry could hear the arched eyebrow in Rysk's words. "Are you threatening me, Black?" 

Sirius lunged forward and grabbed fistfuls of Rysk's shirt. She jerked back, taking hold of Sirius's wrists, and threw him down onto his side, twisting his arm cruelly as she did so. Black cried out and lay unmoving on the bed. Harry bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood; he wanted desperately to leap forward and knock Rysk away from Sirius. After a tense moment Sirius let out a dry sob. His shoulders shook. "You have to get him back," he said raggedly, raising his head to stare at Rysk. The helpless, angry torment in his face twisted Harry's heart. "You have to save him. If...if he..." 

"If he what?" Rysk was emotionless. 

"You know what I'm saying!" snarled Black. "What are you _doing?_" 

Rysk seemed to hesitate. She reached up and tightened her hair, secured in its usual ponytail. "We have three days." 

"Three days. Why three days?" 

"That's how long it is to the full moon." 

Sirius's gaunt, sickly face drained of all color. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Oh, my God. No." He slowly collapsed inwards on himself, curling into a tight ball. "No, no, no, _no...!_" 

That was it. Harry jerked forward before he could catch himself. His shoe scraped against the floor and Rysk twisted sharply around in the chair. Harry froze: she was staring right into his eyes. She searched the air around him and then slowly, decisively turned back as her grey eyes flashed in an unnerving manner. 

Harry's breath hitched painfully as Sirius began sobbing quietly in earnest and wet tears appeared on the mattress, but he dared not move; he hardly dared to breathe. Rysk watched his godfather for a moment. "Crying is a waste of energy," she said with cool contempt. 

Sirius's head jerked up. "I haven't cried for years, Rysk," he hissed, making no effort to check the tears that stained his face. "Shut up. You just shut up, you don't know what I've been through." 

"I'm the reason you can cry right now," said Rysk harshly. 

To Harry's surprise the anger and defiance left Sirius's face to be replaced by a flood of hot shame. He made no answer. 

"Dumbledore is trying to contact the rest of the Order," continued Rysk. "Do you have any idea where Voldemort might be?" 

"No," said Sirius miserably. "Just not in Ireland." 

"We have three days." Professor 'Harrison' stood and looked down at Black. "Dumbledore'll find a safer place for you tomorrow." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you can't think of anything? Not even the direction?" 

Sirius shook his head. "I lost all sense of direction chasing after them," he said hollowly. "Didn't even stop and get my bearings until _they_ started coming after _me_." 

Rysk nodded and reached out with one hand to brush away a tear on Black's face. Sirius looked as shocked as Harry felt, flinching away at the touch and staring at the strange witch as though seeing her for the first time. "Go to sleep." Rysk checked her watch. "Pomfrey'll be up soon." She turned to leave. Harry came to his sense in time to begin backing out of the room as she advanced. 

"Rysk." 

She stopped, dropping her head toward one shoulder. "What?" 

"I never thanked you." 

Something flickered in Rysk's eyes. Her icy voice softened. "Don't." 

Harry flattened himself against the wall as Rysk walked past. He didn't dare let out his breath until he heard her leave the ward. He didn't dare move until her footsteps faded away into the distance. 


	16. The Man From the Ministry

_Jess: To be honest, yes, I'm basically winging it. ;) I have a very primitive outline, but when it comes to filling in all the important little blanks...yeah. Wingin' it. *g*_   
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Harry didn't get the chance to talk to Sirius. Madam Pomfrey had swept into the ward, rubbing sleep from her eyes, seconds after Professor 'Harrison' had left. With his brain already reeling Harry decided to avoid taking further risks and sneak back to Gryffindor tower. Perhaps he could rise early and get to his godfather before he was whisked away. 

Much to Harry's gratitude the Fat Lady was snoozing in her picture when he got back to the common room. 

Unfortunately, he had forgotten about Peeves. 

"STUDENT OUT OF BED!" The poltergeist had been waiting up by the ceiling and began screaming the moment he heard Harry trying to wake the Fat Lady up. "STUDENT OUT OF BED IN GRYFFINDOR TOWER!" 

The Fat Lady snapped awake. "What on earth--" 

"Leo, leo!" hissed Harry. 

"Who's there?" The Fat Lady peered at Harry as she swung aside. 

Peeves cackled, swooping around and around. "Gonna get in trouble now, naughty, naughty student. You're supposed to be good on Christmas Day..." 

Harry dove through the hole in the wall but didn't bother to catch himself. His chin skidded painfully along the floor. 

It was Christmas. Harry quickly picked himself up and ran over to the clock. Yes, five till ten. There were about two hours of it left. 

"Oh, my God," whispered Harry, dumbstruck, letting the cloak slide off of him. He had completely forgotten. 

Peeves was making more noise out in the hall. Harry bolted up into the boys' dormitory and threw himself onto his bed, drawing the curtains. He lay there for several minutes, sweaty and quivering, before he dared to move. Cautiously he slid through the hangings to the floor and went around to the foot of his four-poster. Yes, there they were, a nice-sized pile of presents. Harry let out a breath of disbelief, grabbed the lot of them, and retreated behind the hangings again. 

"_Lumos._" He began quietly unwrapping his gifts. Hermione had sent him a box that depicted the Golden Snitch on its lid. Beneath it were the words: 

_The Practice Snitch: An exact replica of the real thing._   
_It zips, dives, and confuddles!_   
_Used by professional Seekers the world over._

There was a card included with a picture of Hermione and her family. Harry smiled sheepishly when he caught himself wondering why the people didn't move before he read the card. 

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you like the present. I know you have Quidditch practice anyway so the Snitch is already supplied, but maybe you could use it in your spare time or during vacation. Are you studying for your O.W.L.s?_

_Merry Christmas!_

_Hermione_

_P.S. If Sirius finally wrote back, tell him Merry Christmas for me._

Sirius. Harry let the card fall out of his hands before dropping back onto the bed. The initial shock of suddenly remembering the most anticipated holiday of the year had evaporated, and with it the desire to see the rest of his presents. They would still be there tomorrow, and the day after. Sirius might not be. 

A thousand questions ran through Harry's mind as he slowly began to sink into sleep. His thoughts and dreams became blurred. The last thing he remembered before yielding to slumber was the image of Sirius crying, head buried in his arms. But then his godfather looked up and it wasn't Sirius, it was Snape. 

**** 

Harry didn't go to breakfast that morning. He crept into the secret passageway behind the landscape and sat on the top of the spiral stairs, sustaining himself on some of Mrs. Weasley's fudge. It brought a sad smile to his face to think that despite troubles at home the kind woman found time to knit a sweater and make sweets for him. 

Ron's letter made his smile vanish. 

_Harry,_

_Merry Christmas. I'm sorry I couldn't get you anything. I'm saving all the money I have in case Dad might need it. It's all I can give._

_There's trouble in the Ministry. Percy is being worse than ever. He came home just to drop off a few gifts and say hello to Mum. He didn't even look at Dad. I almost wish I never came back. Percy's not measuring cauldrons anymore; he's made his way into Fudge's (that prat) inner circle. Fudge wants to persecute Dumbledore and put someone else in charge of Hogwarts. He still can't see that You-Know-Who is back. Neither can Percy. Dad's fighting for all he's worth at work._

Ron's handwriting got darker, messier, angrier. In several places the ink had been smudged by suspicious looking wet spots. 

_I thought I should warn you, Fudge is sending someone over from the Ministry sometime after Christmas to investigate Rysk. You should have seen his face when he heard about her. Never thought anyone could go that purple._

_See you soon._

_Ron_

Harry slowly folded the letter back up, staring blankly ahead at nothing. "God, Ron," he whispered to the air. "I'm sorry." 

Harry felt completely, utterly helpless. His friend's family was coming apart at the seams and there was nothing he could do. Lupin was in trouble and Sirius was in pain and Voldemort was risen and there was nothing he could do. What made it so damnably frustrating was that everyone acted as though Harry himself were at the center of it all somehow. And there was still nothing he could do. 

He reached up and touched the scar in the middle of his forehead. That legendary, revered scar. And for what? What did it do? 

"_Nothing_," hissed Harry viciously, throwing Ron's letter down on top of the box of fudge and stalking down the stairs. "Not one damn thing except _hurt. _Is it supposed to warn me?" He was shouting now. "Did it warn me about Cedric? Did it? Did it save his life? What's the bloody point? What's the bloody goddamn _point?!_" Harry slammed his fist into the railing and swore as pain lanced through his hand. "Damn it." 

He felt as though he were sleepwalking as he made his way to the bottom of the stairs, cradling his bruised hand. As he stepped onto the stone tiles a flurry of muffled voices came through the wall that separated him from the rest of the school. Harry's brow furrowed as he pressed his ear against the hidden door. 

"What is the meaning of this?" came McGonagall's distant, annoyed voice. 

"We're here on Ministry business, Professor. If you please, where's Albus Dumbledore? We'd like a word." 

"We were aware of no such appointment." 

"You may not be, but I'm sure the Headmaster is...please, Professor, there's nothing to be alarmed about." 

Harry's eyes widened. He spun around and began sprinting up the staircase two steps at a time. Never before had the twisting banister seemed so long. It was fortunate that Quidditch practice had gotten him back into shape; still, he was nearly out of breath by the time he tumbled through the picture. Without pausing Harry dashed through the castle, heedless of the danger of running into Filch. He simply had to get to Sirius before the Ministry got too close. 

"Madam Pomfrey!" He burst into the hospital ward, red in the face and out of breath. 

"What?" came the nurse's bemused voice as she stepped out of her office. "Harry, what's wrong?" 

"The Ministry." Harry pointed vaguely. "The Ministry's here." 

Madam Pomfrey's eyes went wide. Before she could say a word a voice behind Harry snapped, "What's going on here? Potter, what are you doing out of your common room?" 

Harry spun around to see Snape's black robes. "Professor--" 

"Severus," said Pomfrey tersely, touching Snape's elbow. Harry saw the Potions master automatically flinch away. "The Ministry's here." 

"Get him out," said Harry urgently, struggling not to yell at the two adults. He motioned frantically in the direction of Sirius's room. "We have to get him out of here." 

"Potter--" Harry was pulled bodily to a stop by Snape, who had a death grip on his injured shoulder. He winced and pulled away. 

"What?" 

"It'll be safer to keep him here." Snape glanced back at Madam Pomfrey for confirmation before looking to Harry. "Did they say what they wanted?" 

Harry shook his head. "I didn't hear much--they wanted to talk to Dumbledore." Perhaps it was only his imagination, but Harry thought he saw thinly veiled worry erase the sneer from Snape's face. For the first time he wondered exactly how much the rest of the staff knew of Fudge's intentions for Hogwarts. The Potions master looked around, at a loss. "The Headmaster sent me to bring Black to his office," he said, sounding almost uncertain. "He's contacted the rest of the Order and needs him present..." 

"Well, marching him into Albus's office doesn't look like a good idea, does it?" snapped Pomfrey. She, too, looked more than uneasy, even a bit pale. "You go to him, Severus, I'll look after Sirius." 

The nurse's words seemed to bring Snape back. "Yes, yes." He turned and began walking off without a word. 

Harry watched Madam Pomfrey hurrying to Sirius's room, torn. He bit his lip, then wheeled about and ran after Snape, who had just disappeared through the door. "Wait!" Harry emerged into the corridor outside and caught up to Snape. "I'm coming with you." 

"No, you're not, Potter; go back to your room," sneered Snape, lengthening his stride. Harry simply quickened his. 

"Stop me," he said grimly. 

"That's ten points from Gryffindor." 

"Remind me to earn twenty next time." 

They were turning a corner and walking down a staircase. Before Snape could retort or hex Harry into oblivion (and by the look on his face, he dearly wanted to do so), a wizard in official-looking robes almost bumped right into them. 

"So sorry!" the Ministry wizard said, quickly stepping back to avoid becoming tangled. Snape's eyes instantly narrowed in suspicion as the wizard straightened his robes. The man started and peered when he got a second look at the Potions master. "Professor Snape?" 

"I am," said Snape with his usual, unfriendly sneer. 

"You probably don't remember me. I'm Paul Ranone. Ravenclaw. You were just starting to teach in my second year." 

"Yes, of course...Mr. Ranone." Snape shook the man's offered hand slowly. "And what is a Ministry official doing here?" 

"We're just here to see the Headmaster," said Ranone cheerfully, but there was something shifty beneath his voice. Snape seemed to have detected it. 

"Ah," said the professor softly. "You realize that Albus Dumbledore's office is three floors down?" 

Paul Ranone's smile became a bit fixed. "Ah, is it? It's been such a long time--must have forgotten my way." Harry watched them, feeling uneasy. There was something about Ranone's pale brown eyes that he didn't like. He quickly found out what when the the official glanced at him and smiled. The moment their gazes met a sharp pain sizzled through his scar. Harry's hands clenched into fists at his side as he struggled to control his expression. "Could you show me the way, Professor?" Ranone's easiness of speech had returned. Snape nodded, his eyes never leaving Ranone's face, and led the way. 

Harry chose to follow behind Ranone. The wizard did not look altogether pleased with this arrangement, but did not display any strong objections at the same time. Harry watched Ranone's back like a hawk. It seemed obvious that this one was from Fudge's side of the Ministry; and it seemed even more obvious that he had by no means forgotten where Dumbledore's office was. 

They were met in front of the stone gargoyle by Professor 'Harrison'. She was leading another wizard in Ministry robes by the elbow. By the vaguely angry and uncomfortable expression on his face, Harry was willing to guess that Rysk's grip wasn't as light as it looked. "Professor Snape," she said with a raise of her eyebrows. Her voice was surprisingly pleasant but a dangerous edge remained. "Was he looking for me, too?" She nodded to Ranone. 

"No," said Snape, "he was looking for the Headmaster's office." 

"I see." Rysk flashed a smile that was most decidedly unpleasant. "Mr. Henry here was looking for me in the dungeons." There was the faintest emphasis on the last three words. "Apparently Dumbledore wants a word." She looked down at Henry, who stood considerably shorter than her. "I hope it's not trouble." 

"Nor do I, Ms. Harrison." Henry pulled away, a sneer tugging at his lips as he took in Rysk's overall appearance. 

_Not her day to impress the traditionals,_ thought Harry. 'Harrison' was wearing faded jeans and an open denim shirt over a white tee beneath her loosely fastened robes. And also, realized Harry with a prick of unease, the thin leather belt. 

"Tetris," said Rysk to the gargoyle. A dry smile seemed to pull at her lips as the stone monster jumped aside. 

_Tetris?_ Harry stifled a laugh. 

"I'm sorry," said Ranone, holding up a hand as Snape and Harry made to follow them in, "but this business is between us and these two strictly..." He gave an apologetic smile. 

"Of course," said Snape, staring at Ranone. The smile faded a bit from Ranone's face and he turned a bit hastily to step through the wall. When the passageway sealed, blocking him from sight, Harry's scar finally stopped throbbing. 

"God," muttered Harry, gingerly touching his forehead. He looked up to see Snape watching him. "That man...Ranone...he made my scar hurt." 

"Oh? And what astonishing prophecy will you be gracing us with?" sneered Snape. 

The anger and confusion in Harry's eyes must have been more intense than he thought. Snape took an involuntary step back. "It's not a fucking crystal ball!" he hissed. 

"I would watch your tongue if I were you, Potter," said Snape in a deceptively soft voice. His black eyes flashed. 

"You're not," said Harry. He dropped his hand. "I don't like him." He looked up when Snape didn't answer. "He didn't just forget his way." 

"No," agreed Snape tightly, staring at the gargoyle. "He didn't." 


	17. Midnight Errand

_Chapters? Length? Are you people asking me to use _foresight? _;) Hehe, oh, all I can say is that this is going to be a big-ass story..._   
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Snape was pacing back and forth while Harry watched, standing by the gargoyle. The Potions master looked quite agitated. Once he even stopped and glanced up as though to order the stony guardian aside. Harry could only stand the clicking of Snape's shoes on the tiles so long before breaking the terse monotony of the air. 

"What's going on?" he asked quietly. Snape spun on his heel and stared at Harry. 

"I don't know." 

"I think they're just here to complain about Professor Harrison," said Harry, watching the other man carefully. "Fudge won't make a move on Headmaster Dumbledore until he has enough support." 

The shock on Snape's face was priceless, even though it was quickly chased away by a sneer. "That's right; I'd forgotten. You have Freckle-Face Weasley to expose all the secrets of the Ministry to you." 

Harry clenched his teeth. "Ron and his family are fighting for _your_ side." 

"They're not doing an impressive job." 

"They're working against the Minister of Magic," seethed Harry. 

The Potions master's sneer grew. "Not the most brilliant idea, is it?" 

"It's the _only_ idea." 

Snape's jaw worked. He didn't seem to have an answer for that and resumed his pacing. 

"Do you think they can?" pressed Harry, anxiety overcoming the brief flash of anger. "Could they--" 

"For God's sake, Potter, hold your tongue!" 

Harry simply crossed his arms and stared at his teacher. After several minutes of avoiding Harry's gaze Snape spun on his heel and nearly snarled, "Yes, if Fudge gets enough support..." He trailed off. "It doesn't matter; it's not for you to worry about, Potter." 

"With all due respect, sir, it is." 

"Oh, are you paying due respect now?" sneered Snape. 

Harry nodded silently without bristling. Snape stared at him, a confused expression flashing across his face. 

Just then the gargoyle jumped aside as the wall behind it split open. Both Harry and Snape started and turned to see Rysk step out, followed by three Ministry officials, among them a very shaken Ranone. Harry watched in fascination as Rysk said quietly to the wizards, "I'm glad we could work things out." She bent slightly at the waist, a gesture as uncharacteristically eloquent as her words. "I hope I didn't alarm you much." She looked directly at Ranone. 

"Oh, no, professor. No harm done." Ranone tried to smile. It didn't work. 

Rysk nodded, but Harry noticed she never took her eyes off of Ranone. "Good. This way." 

"No, Ms. Harrison, thank you." Henry smiled most insincerely, obviously wanting to distance himself from the strange witch. "We know our way out." 

Rysk raised her eyebrows, the picture of concerned courtesy. It sent chills up Harry's spine. "Well, if you're sure." She gestured with an arm. "Good day, gentlemen." 

'Harrison' turned and walked over to Harry and Snape. As the three Ministry wizards left Harry saw Paul Ranone staring hard at Rysk's back. Once again, their eyes accidentally locked. 

"Ow!" Harry clapped a hand to his forehead, taken by surprise. 

"The Headmaster wants to see you," said Rysk tersely to Snape. They looked down at Harry's outburst. "Potter?" 

Harry looked up at Rysk and hesitated. "That...that man." He nodded after the Henry and the rest. "Ranone." 

Rysk studied Harry for a moment before nodding grimly. "I know." 

"What are you talking about?" snapped Snape. 

"Take a wild guess; and if you can't do that you'd better ask the Headmaster." Rysk's lip curled. "Go back to your room, Potter." 

Snape stared after Rysk as she walked briskly off. He looked startled when he saw Harry watching, as though a student had popped out of nowhere. "You heard her, Potter. I don't want to see you wandering around the school." 

Harry remained silent as Snape swept past into the passageway. Then he stuck his hands into his pockets and trudged back up the stairs. 

****

A notice was tacked to the bulletin board in the Gryffindor common room. There was to be a beginning-of-term trip to Hogsmeade when Christmas vacation ended on a Saturday. 

"Short notice, isn't it?" said Seamus, walking over to Harry. "Not that I'm complaining." 

"Very short notice." Harry was almost thinking out loud. "Strange." 

Seamus shrugged, then brightened. "Hey, you know what's strange--was there really a giant beast from the Forest attacking the grounds that one night?" 

_So that's what's been going around, _thought Harry. "I don't know," he said, finding it easier to lie while looking at the Hogsmeade flyer. 

"'You don't know'! You ran out! McGonagall blew every blood vessel in her body!" 

Harry shook his head, not turning around. "I didn't see anything. Ran out, next thing I know something hits me in the back of the head and I'm out. Woke up in the hospital wing." 

"Oh." Seamus sounded disappointed for a moment. "Just think how close you were to being eaten! You think it was that...whatever it was that hit you?" 

"Dunno." Harry tried to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. "Probably." 

**** 

Harry counted out twenty-some Galleons for Hogsmeade on Saturday. Then he went to bed. Sleeping was another matter. He kept thinking about Sirius, and Rysk, and most of all his scar. 

Useless as it was, it had never failed to warn him of danger or Voldemort's wrath before. Harry couldn't accept Ranone and the vaguely disturbing air about him as coincidence, and he wasn't about to do that with the mysterious Carmen Rysk, either. A witch that carried a knife at her side was not one Harry trusted. 

For an hour he toyed with ideas and possibilities. His reasoning continued to bring him, one way or another, to a single conclusion: Ranone was a Death Eater. The very thought made Harry bite his lip in helpless anger. He began to wonder whether or not Fudge continued refusal to cooperate wasn't influenced by others in the Minister's close circle. After all, Harry doubted that Fudge was an unintelligent man, simply a proud one. The idea of Voldemort slowly infiltrating the Ministry until he _was_ the Ministry was not a pleasant one. 

_He's tried it before. And Death Eaters that were still loyal were working for the Ministry, like Avery._ Harry turned restlessly over. _But this time Voldemort doesn't have to _deal _with a united Ministry. He can just destroy it from the inside, split it farther apart until no one can do anything._

This hypothesis remained an unscratchable itch in Harry's mind until he finally got up and quietly scribbled a letter to Ron. He added a postscript promising a belated Christmas present, and assuring his friend that it was all right, he needn't get him a gift every year after all, and to thank Mrs. Weasley for the sweater and fudge. The real frustration came when he put down the quill and realized that Hedwig was still in the Owlery. With a resigned sigh Harry slipped on his robes, grabbed his wand, and ducked beneath the invisibility cloak. 

It was a trivial thing to risk trouble over, but a strange urgency had taken hold of Harry. He felt he had to get this information to the Weasley family _now._

He checked the Marauder's Map. _Argus Filch _and _Mrs. Norris_ were patrolling the area around the Great Hall. Harry smirked. Dumbledore must have reassigned the miserable caretaker for security reasons. Tucking the map away into his robes, Harry illuminated his wand and crept out of Gryffindor tower. 

He was careful to be absolutely silent. Passing through the Great Hall while Filch wandered around the vicinity and Mrs. Norris sat on the Slytherin table was nerve-wracking. Harry swore that damn cat could smell him as he drew close. He screwed up his courage and walked past her. He looked over his shoulder and saw her zip out of the Great Hall toward Filch. Cursing inside his head, Harry ran the rest of the way to the Owlery with Filch's, "What is it, love?" echoing in his ears. 

He made it safely. Several owls were sleeping while others were waking up. Many were missing, probably flown outside for the night. Hedwig ruffled her feathers as Harry approached, seeming to sense him. 

"Hedwig," whispered Harry. He reached an arm out from beneath the cloak. Hedwig stared at it with big yellow eyes for a moment before hopping onto his wrist with a soft 'hoo'. "Good girl." Harry brought the beautiful snowy owl back under the cloak with him. "I need you to deliver this to Ron." He tied the letter carefully but firmly around Hedwig's leg. She hopped and fluttered her wings, as if to take off. "No, no, not yet." Harry put a hand on top of her head. "Just wait a while." He raised his hand and she hopped onto his shoulder. 

Harry crept out into the Great Hall. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw Filch walking between the tables, glaring around suspiciously, lantern held high. With a pointless, "Shh," to Hedwig, Harry took a breath and began walking across the Hall. 

Mrs. Norris's unnerving red eyes followed him the entire way; Harry prayed feverently that Hedwig wouldn't react to the cat's presence. 

The combination of student and owl scents must have confused Mrs. Norris. Her tail lashed viciously as they passed her by, but nothing more. 

Harry emerged into the foyer with a sigh of relief. He gave Hedwig a reassuring stroke and began to climb the marble staircase, not daring to use the secret passageway behind the suit of armor. 

Halfway back to Gryffindor tower he heard hushed voices coming from farther down the corridor. He hesitated, then followed changed direction and padded toward them. He found himself at the gargoyle leading to Dumbledore's office again. Professor 'Harrison' was standing beside it, murmuring to the empty air: "...wanted to let you rest more, but..." 

"But what?" replied the thin air. Harry jerked and stifled a gasp. That was Sirius. Hedwig shifted on his shoulder; he reached up a hand to still her. 

"But the situation in the Ministry has gone from bad to worse a hell of a lot faster than we feared," whispered Rysk tersely. 

"What do you mean...?" 

"I mean a Death Eater visited us today. We have to move our asses _now._" 

Harry held his breath. Sirius was silent. After a moment Rysk reached out and put her hand under what might been an elbow. She murmured a password and the wall split open. She guided her invisible companion through the opening and turned to go, but suddenly turned back. "Black, are you sure you're up to this?" 

"Yes." A teasing note entered his godfather's voice. "Why Rysk, I never knew you cared." 

"Must be the bond," she replied coldly, encasing the last word in air quotes. 

Harry blinked. _Bond?_

There was a hesitation on the part of the thin air. "Rysk--" 

"Go." Rysk pushed something invisible but solid. "It's already been a day." Before Sirius could say another word, Professor 'Harrison' turned on her heel and walked quickly away, her feet making hardly a sound against the floor. The light that leaked through the passageway to Dumbledore's office glinted off of her bizarre hair. 

Harry waited for a bit after she had gone. Nothing else happened except for the sealing of the wall. 

"Sirius..." 

He hadn't gotten to say goodbye. 

**** 

Harry sent Hedwig away with through the window of the boys' dormitory with a heavy heart. A stomach-twisting premonition told him that he wouldn't see his godfather again for a long time. 

He finally fell asleep at the stroke of four in the morning, just when the waxing moon was beginning to set. 

One day and four hours. The moon was rising. 


	18. Rita Skeeter Writes Again

On Saturday morning Harry and a few other students went out to the grounds to meet the carriages. Harry eagerly searched the crowd of returning students for Ron or Hermione. 

A loud meow at Harry's feet made him jump. He looked down to see an enormous orange cat with yellow eyes rubbing against his legs. "Crookshanks!" Hermione came running through the crowd and swept the cat up into her arms. "Don't run off like that--hello, Harry!" 

"Hi Hermione." Harry reached out to stroke Crookshanks's back. "Did you have a good break?" 

"Yes," beamed Hermione, tugging at her gloves around Crookshanks's large bulk. "Viktor came up to visit." 

Harry blinked. "Viktor _Krum_?" 

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I was so happy; you know how my parents wouldn't hear of my going to Bulgaria..." 

"Ron's going to have a fit," muttered Harry. 

"Hm, what? Oh, Ron's had half a year without Crookshanks around; he'd better not complain." 

_Well, she completely missed the point..._ Harry braced himself. "So, does Ron know that Krum was over?" 

"Oh, yes. Viktor said hello in a letter I sent for Christmas. Now he has his autograph twice!" Hermione looked nonplussed at the unease in Harry's face. "Why?" 

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering." _Dear God help us. Crookshanks is going to be the _least _of Ron's complaints. _"Look, there he is." Harry jumped a bit and waved to the tall redhead as he clambered out of a carriage. 

"My, he looks sullen." 

Ron pushed through the crowd of returning students and walked up beside Harry. He grunted in reply to Harry's greeting, not looking at Hermione. 

"Ron, what's wrong? Oh!" Hermione had suddenly noticed the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in Ron's hand. She snatched it from him, dislodging Crookshanks in the process, who jumped out of her arms and sauntered away, bottlebrush tail held high in offence. "Have you read this yet?" 

"No," sulked Ron, "Why the bloody hell should I?" 

His abrasiveness was lost on Hermione, who was anxious untying the ribbon around the newspaper. "Look!" she squealed, letting it fall open. 

"What?" Harry leaned over and saw in bold black print at the top of the page: 

**THREE CLEARED DEATH EATERS FOUND DEAD**

_Three wizards, long proven innocent against charges of serving the Dark Lord, were found dead of the third and most Unforgivable curse in Ireland. A sinister accident? Or was this trio, found in the black robes of Death Eaters, more than what they seemed? Rita Skeeter of the _Daily Prophet _investigates--_

"'Cleared Death Eaters'?" murmured Hermione, engrossed. "That's contradictory, isn't it?" She didn't seem to notice when several younger students bumped into her. 

"Bloody _hell_," came Ron's voice from over Harry's shoulder. Apparently his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He looked up and gave Hermione a narrow look. "Herm..." Then, "Oh, God, did you have to bring that cat?!" Crookshanks had returned and was pawing at Hermione's legs. 

"Shh, shh." Hermione pressed the paper to her chest as Harry tried to read the article again. "Come on, let's go inside." She began walking away, pausing to hoist Crookshanks back up. 

"Hermione!" 

She turned and gave them a stern look, making a gesture with her head to follow her inside. Ron made a groaning, frustrated noise and ran after her. 

Harry was in numb shock as he forced his legs to move. He remembered clearly that Sirius's report to Dumbledore, including the killing of three Death Eaters in Ireland. Something else tickled at the back of his mind, as well. It bothered him deeply that he couldn't place his finger on _what._

Word was finally out in the wizarding world. Harry wondered why he wanted to vomit. 

**** 

Hermione refused to say a word until she had gotten Crookshanks and her luggage quite settled in. Ron was nearly beside himself by the time she drew them into a corner of the common room with Rita Skeeter's article. 

Hermione's talent for drawing out a very simple concept into a long explanation was amazing. Ron finally interrupted. 

"You let her _go?!_" 

Hermione raised her chin defiantly. "Yes. I let her go a few days before break after threatening to tell Dumbledore that she was an unregistered Animagus if she ever touched Hogwarts again. _She_ didn't know what was going on with the Ministry. Don't you see?" She looked eagerly into their shocked faces. "No one believed us, not even _you_, Harry. Everyone believes Rita Skeeter. Even Fudge can't get her under his thumb." 

"Hermione," breathed Harry, "what have you done?" 

"Don't you see what she's done?" exploded Ron. He launched himself forward and threw his arms around Hermione with no reservations. 

Hermione yelped. "Ron!" 

"You're a genius!" laughed Ron, not releasing her, "A bloody genius! She's spread the news, that's what she's done!" He drew back and whispered fiercely, "Let's see Fudge deal with this one. Let's just see him _try._" 

Harry, detached, picked up the paper and flipped through it to the daily reminders section.__

_-End of Christmas break; Hogwarts semester resumes._   
_-A full moon tonight. Stay inside and away from woods._

Harry looked up at the laughing Ron and Hermione. He put the _Daily Prophet _down. 

And didn't tell them a thing. 

**** 

Harry felt sick all that morning. No word had yet come from Sirius; even Dumbledore had no news of his godfather (Harry had managed to catch him after breakfast). Tonight was the full moon, and Harry felt as weak and pale as Lupin had been the days before his transformation. 

The idea of his former professor being tortured was at once unbearable and unimaginable. Harry had always known Lupin as a calm, collected man, commendably strong in his own quiet way. He couldn't break. He couldn't. 

"Do you have an eating disorder, Harry?" teased Hermione, but a glint in her eye told Harry that she was half-serious. "You didn't touch a thing at breakfast." 

"Making room for Hogsmeade," said Harry quickly, surprised at how easily the lies had been coming lately. 

Ron started and stood to his feet. They were sitting in a quiet corner of the common room, having arranged three seats into a small, intimate circle. Having a private conversation in such a public place was surprisingly easy, as everyone was engaged in their own world of news and gossip. At the moment the words on everyone's tongues were "Death Eaters", "dead", and "You-Know-Who", and it made Harry uneasy. 

"I just remembered; got some money for Christmas. Let me go get it." 

"Ron, we don't leave..." Hermione checked the plain Muggle watch she had received from an aunt. "..for another half-hour." She looked after him, bemused, as he turned around halfway up the dormitory stairs. 

"Er..." The tips of Ron's ears turned pink. He quickly made good his escape with a mumbled, incoherent explanation. 

"He's been acting strange lately." Hermione sat back with a vaguely satisfied smile on her face. "Probably going to read over that article again." She smiled wickedly. "It's too bad Malfoy isn't back yet, you know. I was looking forward to seeing the look on his face." 

Harry started. The deja vu that had been pricking at the back of his mind gave a sudden, swift kick. "Malfoy?" 

Hermione raised her eyebrows, mildly shocked by Harry's vehemence. "Yes..." 

"Why _isn't_ he back...?" Harry trailed off and Hermione remained silent, watching him in a keen manner. "Oh, my God." He leaned forward and murmured, "Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. I saw him at...at...after the Triwizard Tournament. He Apparated, I swear. Did Skeeter give their names?" 

Hermione frowned, catching onto Harry's point much more quickly than she had outside. "I don't know; it didn't say. You don't think..." 

"I saw him, that night, I heard him," insisted Harry. "What else would keep Malfoy away?" 

"But...but we don't know for sure." 

_I do,_ thought Harry, but he didn't know why. 

"Harry?" Hermione peered into his face. "What is it?" 

"Hm? Oh, nothing. Nothing." 

Harry was saved from further questions by Ron's appearance on the stairs. "I'm done," he called down uncertainly, an amusing note of paranoia in his voice. Harry hid a smile as he wondered exactly what Ron was up to. He hoped it wasn't any kind of unpleasant revenge to be wrought upon Viktor Krum. 

_Well, he's not going on a bloody rampage. Can't ask for too much._

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Are you?" She smiled teasingly. "Fascinating, Ron." 

"I just wanted to decide how much I want to spend," sniffed Ron, doing his best to look offended. He walked over and sat down in his chair. "When are we leaving again?" 

Hermione sighed theatrically. "Can't you remember anything? Honestly." She checked her watch. "Eleven-thirty. We have twenty minutes or so." 

"Great. What are you going to get, Harry? I say Zonko's; sounds like you had a terribly dull break." 

Harry made a quiet choking sound; he couldn't help it. 

"Harry?" 

"Sorry." He coughed, trying to be convincing. "Yeah, break was boring. Jokes would be great. Oh, I'm going to get both of you Christmas presents, too...even though they're late. Say, Ron, did you get my letter?" 

Ron's brow furrowed. "What letter?" 

Harry blinked. "I sent you a letter over break." His eyes narrowed. "You never got it?" 

Ron shook his head. "No-o-o..." 

Harry felt himself turn pale. Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them. "What are you talking about, what letter?" 

"But...but Hedwig, she came back! She never comes back until the errand's done...!" 

"I never got it," insisted Ron, his expression worried. "Why, what'd you write?" 

Harry closed his eyes and passed a hand over his brow. He wearily recounted the events of Thursday to them. 

"Paul Ranone!" exclaimed Ron. "That's Percy's friend!" He added bitterly, "The one that didn't even want Percy coming home to visit over break. Wouldn't be surprised if he were a damn Death Eater. Do you think he is?" 

"I don't know. Avery's one, and he's working for the Ministry." 

"You say your scar hurt?" Hermione leaned forward and brushed Harry's hair away, peering with scientific interest at the scar. From the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron scowl. 

"Yeah." Harry wisely pulled back. The last thing he needed was an accusation from a jealous Ron. "Whenever he looked at me, it just...burned." 

"Did Snape say anything?" 

"Snape didn't like him, either. And I don't think Ranone--" 

Hermione stood to her feet. "Harry, wait until Hogsmeade, all right? I need to round the students up..." She walked off, shouting to the common room, "All right, everyone, we're going down to the Great Hall in five minutes; get your stuff. Third year and above only, I repeat, third year and above only. If you haven't turned in your permission slip yet give it to me and I'll see what I can do..." 

Ron and Harry exchanged a look before scattering with the other students to retrieve gloves and winter robes. 

**** 

"You didn't see Hedwig at all?" 

Ron shook his head. "Dad didn't say anything." He let out a sigh and pulled at his nose. "I don't like this." 

Harry's stomach, which had been behaving unpleasantly for much of the day, twisted even further. He swivelled on the barstool to face the counter and cupped his hands around his cup of butterbeer. "My God, if it fell into the wrong hands..." His shoulders slumped. What had he done? 

"I'm sure it'll turn up, Harry." Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Yeah," said Ron quickly. "I'll write back home, ask them to look for it. It'll turn up." 

Harry took a breath and shook his head. He slid down from the stool. 

"Where're you going?" 

"Stay here." He tried to smile. "I'm getting you guys your Christmas presents." 

"Really, Harry, you don't--" protested Hermione. 

"Yes, I do. Besides, I think Ron has something to give you." Harry smirked wickedly at Ron, who turned red and quickly extracted his hand from his pocket. He had been fingering something in his robes the entire trip. Before Hermione could ask or Ron do something unpleasant, Harry turned and made good his escape out into the streets of Hogsmeade. 

A light snow flurried through the air, stinging his face and finding exposed skin on his neck. Harry bent his head against the wind and trudged through the crowd toward Kullener's Odds and Ends. It seemed a promising place to find something of interest for Ron and Hermione besides the fact that it was a quiet, unfrequented store where Harry could browse--and think--in peace. 

"Strange place to shop, Potter." 

"Ah!" Harry jumped and whirled around. 

Rysk raised her eyebrows. "Sorry." Amusement flickered across her face. 

"I'm just looking around," muttered Harry, turning back to the shelves. He picked up a Rememberall to prove his point. 

"You really shouldn't wander too far from people." 

"Have you been following me?" demanded Harry. 

"Trailing, guarding, shadowing...take your pick." Rysk's voice was as cool as the snow. Harry could feel her eyes on the back of his head. "Bit late for Christmas shopping, isn't it?" 

Harry cursed inwardly, wondering exactly how much of their conversation she had overheard. "I forgot about it," he said shortly. 

"Ah. How about this?" Rysk walked a little farther down the shelf and indicated a silver and green dragon that flowed around and around in its crystal case, liquidly graceful. "Made of safe mercury and some dragon blood synthate. It can become a necklace, a tattoo...a _moving_ tattoo..." 

Harry had come over for a closer look, his interest piqued, only to feel his lip curl reflexively at the dragon's colors. He shook his head. 

Rysk laughed so mockingly that Harry felt instantly insulted. He turned around to see a look of disgusted satisfaction flickering in her cold eyes. "Have they taught you to hate the colors, too?" Her smirk was one of condescending contempt. "Idiots, the whole lot of you students..." She shook her head and started to walk off. 

Harry felt anger and confusion color his cheeks. He ran after her. "Wait, wait, what are you talking about?" 

Rysk dropped her head toward her shoulder to glance at him. "If the dragon were gold and red, Potter, would you have bought it?" 

Harry blinked. "Well...yeah." 

"That's what I'm talking about." Rysk stopped and waited, as if she could practically hear the wheels struggling to turn in Harry's head; as if she were trying hard not to laugh about it. 

"Silver and green are Slytherin colors." Harry gave Rysk a narrow look; he didn't understand why she didn't understand. 

"And God forbid you touch Slytherin colors, because Slytherin is evil incarnate, right?" 

Harry's mouth opened and shut. _Well, when you put it _that _way... _"Well...no, er...yeah, I mean, look at it, every single person in there turned out a Death Eater or something." 

Rysk turned fully around to stare at Harry. "Every single one? Wow. That's a lot of dark wizards, Potter." 

Her sarcasm cut the air like a knife, rendering all of Harry's justifications for abhorring Slytherin, which had seemed so strong and logical for five years, pathetic and laughable. "No, no, not every single one, but...they're all...they're all cheaters and liars and..." He trailed off, acutely aware of how ridiculous he sounded beneath Rysk's piercing gaze. 

"I was in Slytherin, Potter." Rysk rolled up her sleeve and exposed a perfectly unmarred forearm to Harry. "Do you see a Dark Mark?" 

Harry shook his head. "But Snape has one." 

As always, Rysk's grey eyes seemed to become even more edged when the Potions master was mentioned. "He came back to our side." 

"But he was still a Death Eater. And Malfoy!" 

"What about him? He's not a Death Eater." said Rysk icily. 

"He's the son of a Death Eater." 

"What does that prove?" 

Harry looked around, searching for coherent words. "Well...well..." 

"So he must grow up to be Voldemort's servant, too, because his father was. Just like you 'strut' like your father did." 

Harry bristled, startled. "What?" 

Rysk smiled thinly, her eyes glinting. "Everyone knows why Snape hated your dad, Potter, even you know. And everyone knows why Snape hates _you_ so badly." 

"Why, just because I look like him?" 

Rysk clapped softly, mockingly, as a look of embarrassed realization crossed Harry's face. Harry bit his lip and turned away, suddenly fascinated by the many eccentricities on the shelf. After a few seconds something struck him. He spun around. "Did you say his father _was_...?!" 

Rysk wasn't there. For a moment Harry stared at the air where she had been, wondering if he was starting to understand why she scorned the world so much. 


	19. Soulsbane

_Ah, and here is where I once again deviate (consciously, that is) from Rowling's style...alas, some things I just can't tell from Harry's POV. Forgive me. ;)_   
_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Christmas was several days past now, and yet many of the bright and gaudy decorations still remained, draped over the streetlamps and the eaves of many stores. Minerva McGonagall stood at the corner of Hogsmeade and another street, watching the scene and feeling old. Students went out of their way to avoid her, but even so McGonagall had already spotted and put a stop to several incidents of trouble and ten minutes of her shift had not yet passed by. The Headmistress sighed, her lips pressing into a thin line, and considered ducking inside for a butterbeer. 

"Anything from the Order?" The voice was frigid; difficult to discern from the hissing wind. 

Minerva started in spite of herself. Rysk had appeared from behind without warning. "No, Professor Harrison," she said stiffly, recovering her composure. "Kindly step around so that we may talk like civilized beings." 

With a cold, dry chuckle Rysk obliged, where McGonagall could see that the laugh had not touched the other's eyes. "You know what today is. We should have heard from them by now." The wind picked up a mass of snow and skirled it around the two professors. Rysk closed her eyes against it and brushed snowflakes from her red-streaked hair. "Black's not dead." McGonagall gave her a sharp look, which was answered with a grim smile. "I'd know if he were dead." 

"Then what do you suppose is keeping them or him?" said McGonagall coolly. 

Rysk pulled her black coat closer about herself, buttoning the collar. "That's what's worrying me." 

"There's nothing we can do but wait." Rysk looked away for a moment. There was such a strange glint in her eyes that Professor McGonagall was startled into asking, "What's that?" 

Rysk glanced back at her with an insincerely puzzled gaze. "What?" 

McGonagall gave her a hard look that didn't fade. "Where's Potter?" 

"At Kullener's." Rysk nodded over her shoulder toward the far end of the streets. 

McGonagall sniffed. "I might have guessed." 

**** 

Ron fidgeted as Hermione opened the clumsily-wrapped package. "I...I know it's stupid, but...but it's what we're supposed to do, right? I mean...I know it's not so pretty, but I can get another one of you want and--" 

"Ron...." Hermione stared at the silver locket and its chain lying in her palm. Thin, delicate lines were constantly etching and re-etching themselves into the heart's surface, forming a new and intricate pattern each time. "What...what are you--" 

"I'm asking you before someone else does," said Ron with sudden conviction. "I was too late for the dance last year, I'm not going to be too late this time." He felt his face fall as Hermione's stunned expression remained. "I'm...I'm not too late, am I?" 

Hermione looked up and wiped at her eyes, where tears were threatening to overflow. "Why am I crying...that's so stupid..." She sniffled, then smiled as she reached up and clasped the locket around her neck. "No, Ron, you're not too late." 

Ron's eyes lit happily. He leapt down from the stool and offered his arm to Hermione. He looked so clownish and yet gallant that she could not help but giggle. Ron pretended to offended and began to walk off in a huff. Still laughing, Hermione ran after him, threaded her arm through his, and together they walked out to find Harry. 

**** 

"I say if we don't hear anything before sunset someone goes after them." 

McGonagall gave Rysk a swift, hard glance from the corner of her eye. "You'll have to take that up with the Headmaster," she said evenly, watching the younger witch with intensity to rival a hawk. 

The American only nodded, staring at the busy streets without seeing them. 

"I doubt he will agree." Minerva stared openly at Rysk now, her eyes narrowed. 

Rysk turned her head and met McGonagall's gaze evenly with a thin, sarcastic smile. "No, I don't think he will." 

It was a terse moment, fortunately broken by the arrival of Madam Hooch. "Hello, Minerva." The flying instructor walked up from behind McGonagall and levelled a pointed stare at Rysk. "Professor Harrison. I believe it's my shift." 

Rysk glanced at her watch, brushing snow off the face of it. "It is," she agreed coolly. With a nod Rysk pulled the hood of her coat over her head and walked off, pausing only to murmur quietly in McGonagall's ear. "Keep an eye on Potter." 

"Unpleasant woman, isn't she?" came Hooch's voice over the wind. 

Professor 'Harrison' smiled bitterly and continued walking. 

**** 

Harry clutched at his chest melodramatically when Hermione finally showed him the locket. "No! Oh, no! How am I ever going to top _that?_" 

Ron laughed and punched him on the arm. "Shut up, you git, we told you you didn't have to get us presents. But would you listen? No, and now look what you've gotten yourself into!" 

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Honestly!" and began peeling off her gloves as they were pushed along with the crowd of students flooding back into Hogwarts. "I have to get thicker ones; these are soaked." 

Harry saw Ron smile with new shyness and warmth at Hermione. He blinked, struck by how both of his friends had changed and grown. It had happened so slowly that he hadn't noticed before, but Hermione's buck teeth were gone; her hair more curly now than bushy, and Ron seemed to be taking after his older brothers in the way of confidence, barring the occasional blush. They were growing up. 

_What about me?_ wondered Harry. _Have I changed at all, really?_

"Harry?" 

He looked up sharply to see Ron's arm draped easily about Hermione's shoulders. Harry smiled, genuinely glad for his two best friends, and shook his head. "Sorry. Look, I'm going to go up and wrap these." He indicated their belated Christmas gifts with a hoist of the shopping bag. 

"Don't bother, Harry, dinner's starting soon," said Hermione, glancing at the mass of students seating themselves at their respective House tables for a welcoming feast. 

Harry hesitated, biting his lip, but was saved from having to make a strangely difficult decision by the mocking catcalls of George and Fred Weasley. "Oy, Ron! Hermione!" One of the twins pounded on the table good-naturedly and waved them over. "If I didn't know better I'd say they were going out! What about you, George?" 

"I think so, Fred!" shouted George, laughing and waving them over. Ron ducked his head and blushed while Hermione jokingly threatened with a fist. 

"Ron, did you by any chance _consult _with your brothers over this...?" 

"Go on," laughed Harry, pushing them toward the Gryffindor table, "I'll be back in a jiffy." 

Harry was halfway up the marble staircase before he remembered that he had picked up a gift for Dobby. A sign hanging over a darkened corner of Kullener's reading 'Misc.' had drawn his attention. In a box full of true odds and ends Harry had found a small tie, checkered black and red and the perfect size for a house elf. With a grin Harry turned around and made his way toward the kitchen, making sure that no one in the Great Hall saw him dart by. 

The way to the large fruit picture led Harry through the dungeons. More than once he froze, thinking he had heard a noise: Snape had not been in the Great Hall when Harry left it, and running into the Potions master was the last thing he wanted. There was no guarantee that Filch and Mrs. Norris would not be lurking about, either. When Harry reached the fruitbowl still-life it was with a sense of relief that he tickled the banana and stepped into the kitchens. 

House elves bustled all throughout the large, steamy space made much smaller by its occupants. Harry was greeted by a wave of delicious scents that made his mouth water. Several elves stopped and stared as they noticed Harry. He cleared his throat uncertainly and asked, "Hello. Where's Dobby?" 

One elf with particularly floppy ears and wrapped in a potholder came forward. "What is wrong, sir?" it squealed, hopping up and down in anxiety. "Is the food nogood?" It added disapprovingly, "Has Dobby being naughty?" 

"No, no," said Harry, not wanting to cause hysteria among the excitable elves. "Where's--" 

"Dobby is here, Harry Potter!" came a voice from the back. Harry searched the elves standing over a line of stoves and saw Dobby at the end, tending to a cauldron of sauce. Each long ear was covered by mismatched socks, but at least the apron was worn correctly. Harry smiled and made his way toward him, careful not to trod on any of the other elves. "Dobby is sorry," said Dobby as Harry reached him and knelt down, "but Dobby must finish sauce." 

"That's all right," said Harry, rocking back on his haunches to wait. 

"Dobby is very glad to see Harry Potter," beamed the house elf, obviously excited. 

"So am I--" 

"Done!" cried Dobby, and in a flash the red sauce disappeared from the cauldron. Dobby turned to Harry, his wide eyes rounder than usual as he bounced up and down in happiness. "Why is Harry Potter come?" 

"To give you a late Christmas present." Harry produced the tie from his bag. 

Dobby squealed in delight. "Harry Potter is too kind!" he cried, grabbing the tie and examining it with an awestruck expression. He eagerly wrapped it around his neck like a scarf. Harry suppressed a laugh; it was close enough. 

"It looks good on you." 

Dobby's eyes swam in joyful tears. "Looks good on Dobby?" 

"Of course." Harry grinned and gave Dobby's head a pat before standing back up. "I have to go now--agh!" 

Dobby had thrown himself at Harry's legs and was squeezing as hard as he possibly good. "Thank you, Harry Potter sir!" he squeaked. "Thank you thank you thank you!" 

Harry struggled for his balance. "You're welcome, you're welcome...watch out, before I fall..." He gently dislodged the house elf from his legs, laughing quietly. He glanced at the rest of the kitchen; all the other house elves were watching, some shaking their heads darkly. "I really should go now; say hello to Winky for me." 

"Oh, Dobby will, Dobby will!" 

Harry had a grin on his face as he left the kitchens and it remained all the way up into the dungeons. It was fortunately that he chose to exercise caution in passing Snape's classroom, for as he tiptoed toward it raised voices came from inside. 

"What are you doing here?" 

The Potions master's voice was angry and its usual coldness sounded frayed, frantic. Harry frowned; he set down the bag and crept closer. Right beside the open door he hesitated, remembering a snippet from one of Professor 'Harrison's' classes. _"The lower your head is, the less likely it'll be seen."_

"We were wondering where you were." That was Rysk's voice. Unable to contain himself, Harry dropped silently to his stomach and edged an eye around the doorframe. The stone of the dungeon floor seemed to suck his body's heat; he shivered and hoped that neither of the professor's could hear his quickening heartbeat. 

Snape stood in the middle of the classroom, thankfully looking away from Harry and staring at one side of the room instead. Harry couldn't see Rysk, but he did see that his teacher's black eyes were blazing and that behind his back Snape clutched tightly a vial of deep purple liquid. 

"How touching," sneered Snape. "I never knew you cared so much for my presence at meals, Professor Harrison. What are you doing in my classroom?" 

"I was looking for you," retorted Rysk coolly. 

"_What are you doing here?_" Snape's voice was dangerous and unstable. Harry shrank back a bit so that all he could see was Snape's hands holding that potion. His bone-white fingers were shaking. 

"What's that behind your back?" 

Snape took several steps backwards as Harry heard and saw Rysk advance. She wore leather boots, noted Harry incongruously. Fitting, practical leather boots. Looking up Harry saw the witch's expressionless, unnerving face, and it seemed to be having an effect on Snape. The Potions master's own expression was twisting in a strange mixture of loathing, anger, and fear. 

"What's behind your back?" demanded Rysk again. Before Harry could blink she grabbed one of Snape's arms, twisted him into a bent position and reached deftly over top to pluck the vial out of his grasp. She was out of reach before Snape even moved to resist. "What is this?" Her grey eyes narrowed and never left Snape as she uncorked the bottle. 

"Give me that!" There was a terrible, animalistic fury in Snape's face as he lunged at Rysk. She moved quickly out of the way without even spilling a drop of the strange potion, lifted it to her nose, and sniffed it. Her eyes widened, a rare sign of emotion. 

"Soulsbane," she hissed. "This is a drug!" 

"It's none of your business!" Snape drew out his wand, "_Accio_--" 

Before he could finish the charm a shattering of glass was heard and Harry could see the purple liquid spreading over the dungeon floor. It gave off a strong smell, not entirely an unpleasant one, but even from where he lay Harry could feel its overpowering effect. "What the fuck are you doing with Soulsbane, Professor Snape?" Despite her swearing Rysk sounded inhumanly calm. 

Snape was staring at the spilled, useless drug in shocked horror. He looked up sharply into Rysk's face. "Get out," he hissed. 

"How long have you been using it?" Rysk's gaze was cold and analytical as it swept Snape's shaking body. "You're going into withdrawal; come on--" She reached out to grab his shoulder. 

Snape lunged again, grabbing fistfuls of Professor 'Harrison's' shirt and shoving her against the wall. Harry's blood was pounding in his ears and his own hands were shaking, but he still noticed that Rysk did not seem alarmed at all. "Who are you?" he snarled. "Who are you; how do you do this to me?!" 

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

"You know what I'm talking about!" 

Rysk didn't blink; simply stared at him. As her grey eyes penetrated Snape's black ones Harry saw the Potions master's grip grow slack; heard his breathing quicken further. He seemed to be trying to stare a hole through Rysk, trying to look into her very soul. After a moment he cried out sharply and stumbled away from her, holding his head as though it had been struck a devastating blow. 

Rysk stared at Snape emotionlessly. Then she turned toward the door and started to walk. 

With a gasp Harry scrambled frantically to his feet, desperately wishing for his invisibility cloak, and dashed down the hallway, grabbing his bag as he went. By some miracle he managed to make it around the corner before Rysk stepped out. Harry did not dare to breathe until he heard the echoes of her footsteps fade into the distance. Harry closed his eyes and let out a breath, aware that his legs were trembling violently. Cautiously he stepped out into the corridor and made his way as silently as he could toward Snape's room. He hesitated, pondering on whether or not to make a dash for it, and decided instead to take another peek. 

What he saw was Snape sitting against the same wall he had shoved Rysk up against. In his black robes and with his dishevelled hair falling around a pair of hollow, miserable eyes, he truly looked a pitiful sight. Harry swallowed, and before he knew what he was doing stepped into the dungeon. Snape didn't seem to notice him; his gaze was fixed on the spilled Soulsbane and the broken glass shards of the vial. 

"Professor Snape?" Harry's voice was so soft he himself had trouble hearing it. 

Snape's head snapped up. "Potter." 

Harry stared at his teacher's shaking shoulders. "You need help," he said, hearing his own voice tremor, "I'll go get Madam Pomfrey--" 

"No!" Snape reached out a hand. Real fear flickered across his eyes. "No, don't get the nurse." 

Harry's mind was a blank. "You...you need help. And if I don't Professor Harrison will anyway--" 

"No, Potter!" Harry froze, startled by the desperation that surged beneath Snape's icy voice. The Potions master looked away. Harry glanced around, confused and uncertain, before taking several tentative steps deeper into the room. He finally reached Snape and very hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Professor?" 

The touch seemed to bring Snape back into reality. The old sneer of loathing and revulsion twisted his face as he looked at Harry. "And why are you wandering around the castle during dinner, Potter?" he spat, throwing Harry's hand away and surging to his feet. "I suppose you think you can go anywhere you want, do you? Did you think it would be fun to pry into others' business?" 

Harry took a step back and bit the inside of his cheek. _Bastard!_

"Fifty points from Gryffindor! Detention for a week! Now get out!" Snape paused, breathing heavily. When Harry didn't move he roared, "GET OUT!" 

Harry glared hard at Snape before turning and walking quickly out. 

_Bastard. I hope he drugs himself to death._


	20. The Worst Weasley Stunt

_Wellll...Happy New Year's to you all! Perhaps this isn't the longest chapter, but I do hope it'll be an entertaining one. *eg* Silver Sunshine: Actually, yes, I do know. Which is amazing enough in and of itself. ;) I hope it'll live up to your expectations. One more thing before I let you all go: you know, I honestly wouldn't mind if someone drew Rysk or something for me. I'm in a sad state, you see: I can write, I cannot draw. But I love drawings of characters. See my dilemma? So, if anyone could possibly find the time to...illustrate, 'twould be most appreciated. I'll end the pointless author's note now. Enjoy!_   
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Harry took the bag of presents up to the Gryffindor common room using the passageway behind the suit of armor. It was honestly the last thing he wanted to do, but rousing Hermione's and Ron's suspicions would be even worse. By some miracle he made it up without falling: his legs continued to shake uncontrollably. If there was one thing worse than seeing pure hatred on Snape's face, it was seeing mindless desperation on Snape's face. On anybody's face. 

_He's not supposed to do drugs. He's a teacher; he can't do drugs. _Harry paused at the top of the spiral staircase, biting his lip. His image of Professor Snape, he realized, had just been shattered. The Potions master was greasy haired, utterly unpleasant, and completely without a scrap of decent emotion. _He's human, too, isn't he? There's a contradiction,_ thought Harry dryly. He sighed. As much as he disliked Snape, the man had always been a constant in Harry's world; someone he could always hate. Unfortunately, this law of the universe had just been violated by the deep pity Harry now harbored for his teacher; his anger had already faded. He made a soft laughing noise. "I guess if I don't change, the world will do it for me," he muttered, and with that he pushed open the picture and stepped through, not aware that his legs had stopped trembling. 

Harry quickly wrapped the presents using a simple charm (or perhaps not so simple; he did not yet know how to control the wrapping paper and ended up with two boxes covered in dancing penguins) and hurried back downstairs, determined to find Dumbledore and become a certified tattletale. 

He was halfway down the stairs to the third floor when his scar began burning intensely. "_Ah...!_" Experience finally kicked in, and this time Harry turned around, searching for possible danger. 

He found it quickly enough: on the top of the staircase stood a wizard in plain black robes, wand out and pointing at Harry, pale brown eyes wide in surprise and alarm at being discovered so suddenly. Harry drew his own wand in one smooth motion, proof that Professor 'Harrison's' classes were paying off. 

"What are you doing?" cried a voice to the side. Harry glanced away and saw a flash of red hair and glasses. 

"_Percy?_" 

"_Expelliarmus!_" hissed the man. Harry's wand jerked out of his hand. He lunged forward instantly, desperately, and felt his fingers graze wood. 

"_Accio wand!_" He had been too hasty. Unable to be held by the brief contact of Harry's fingertips the wand clattered off the railing and fell to the floor below. The strange wizard with raised his wand with an icy, triumphant smile; but before he could curse Harry he was disarmed by Percy Weasley. "What do you think you're _doing?!_" 

Harry's attacker lunged at Percy and knocked him to the ground, where they struggled for the wands. Harry turned and ran as quickly as he could down the stairs, shouting at the top of his lungs for help, but before he touched the second floor the world was engulfed by a flash of painful, negative light and then nothing more. 

**** 

Professor 'Harrison' was just seating herself at the High Table when she and the rest of the Great Hall heard Harry Potter cry out. She shoved her chair back instantly, knocking it over, and without a word tore through the foyer and up the marble staircase. One glance at the wand lying in the shadow of the stairs connecting the second and third floor confirmed her worst fears. With a snarled oath Rysk shot up onto the third floor, practically ripping off the hindering Hogwarts robes as she did so. 

She found nothing except an unconscious Percy Weasley lying next to the stairs. Her keen grey eyes flashed about the corridor, wand at the ready. "Potter? Potter!" 

When she received no answer she turned to the prone young man and nudged him non-too-gently in the ribs with her foot. He groaned but did not awaken. Footsteps snapped her head up to see Albus Dumbledore hurrying toward her from below, followed closely by Minerva McGonagall. 

"What happened?" 

"They're gone; they've got Potter," said Rysk tersely to her colleagues. She leaned over the railing and Summoned Harry's wand up to her hand. "Who the hell is this?" she demanded as Dumbledore reached her. 

"Weasley!" gasped McGonagall. 

"Bloody gods, another one?" 

"Percy Weasley," clarified Dumbledore grimly as Rysk dropped into a crouch to check for a pulse. "Graduated last year; he works for the Ministry." 

"The Ministry..." Rysk looked up at Dumbledore narrowly. "Fudge's side, I take it." She straightened and surveyed the hallway again, her fingers twitching as if she were hoping to find someone to hex. "I heard Potter shouting. _He_ didn't take him," a disdainful prod of her toe to Percy's shoulder, "so who did?" 

"_Mobilius corpus._" Percy's body floated into the air and hung there like a stringless puppet. "We'll find out," said Professor McGonagall as she waved the former student in front of herself. "Your office, Albus?" 

Dumbledore nodded and motioned for them to follow. Rysk paused to pick up Percy's wand, discarded on the floor, and tucked all three into her belt. The teachers made their way quickly to the stone gargoyle ("Buttered toast") and up the twisting staircase, Percy Weasley drifting eerily in front of them. Once inside McGonagall promptly dropped Percy onto the office floor. Rysk stepped forward. "_Enervate,_" she commanded, not even bothering to use her wand. With a moan the boy's eyes fluttered open. He looked around, dazed, then bolted straight up as he realized where he was. 

"Headmaster!" Percy scooted backwards, away from the teachers, until his back bumped up against Dumbledore's desk. He struggled to his feet shakily. 

"No Ministry robes, Mr. Weasley?" inquired Dumbledore pleasantly, gesturing toward the young man's plain black robes. Percy swallowed, not fooled for an instant: he could see the wizard's eyes blazing. 

"Sir, I...I didn't mean for this to happen, I assure you--" 

"Listen, why don't you tell us what you're doing in this school?" Rysk took a step forward and when Percy saw her he took a step back, nearly tripping himself over the desk. The woman's outlandish hair, Muggle clothing, and cold eyes combined with her unnerving demeanor to have the same effect on Percy that students in her class had suffered throughout the year. "Because you're going to, sooner or later." 

"Please, professor," said Dumbledore calmly, "there's no need for threats." 

Professor 'Harrison's' lip curled subtly upwards but she said nothing more. 

"No one's going to hurt you, Percy," soothed the Headmaster. Percy continued to stare at Rysk nervously, thoroughly unconvinced. "Tell us what you're doing here. Who took Harry?" 

"I tried to stop him!" Percy blurted out, straightening his glasses agitatedly. "He never said anything about hurting a student, least of all Harry--" 

"Who?" snapped McGonagall. "Who else was with you, Weasley?" 

Percy looked about the room desperately, breathing hard. Then his shoulders slumped and he hung his head. "Paul," he muttered. "Paul Ranone." 

"That son of a bitch," hissed Rysk under her breath viciously. "I knew I should have killed him." 

"He--he said Mr. Fudge wanted us to spy." Percy faltered. "Spy on you, Headmaster." 

"I see," said Dumbledore evenly. 

"He said Mr. Fudge wanted us to look for evidence." 

"Evidence, Weasley?" 

Percy fidgeted. "Evidence that...that Hogwarts was harboring Sirius Black, or at least something to help catch him. Evidence to use against Headmaster Dumbledore." He ended in a barely audible murmur. 

"And what else did your friend Ranone _say, _Mr. Weasley?" snapped McGonagall with biting sarcasm. 

Percy flinched. "Not much else." He gestured vaguely with a hand, looking absolutely miserable. "I tried to stop him. He knocked me out. After that he must have run back through the passageway that leads to Hogsmeade." Percy took a shaking breath. "He insisted on a route that led off of Hogwarts grounds." He looked up at Dumbledore desperately. "Headmaster, I never would have let him if I'd known...I mean, it was Mr. Fudge's orders, but now I don't think it ever was, and I didn't want anyone to get hurt, not a student, not Harry...I tried to stop him, sir, I did...!" 

"Why did he want off Hogwarts grounds?" demanded Rysk suddenly, her voice the cold and dangerous blade of a knife. Percy looked to her, his mouth working like a fish's, but Rysk didn't wait for an answer. She pushed the young man aside to look at the astrological clock behind Dumbledore's desk. Her grey eyes flashed as she turned at stared at Dumbledore, the knuckles of her hands gone white from clutching the table's edge. 

"A trap," said Dumbledore softly, confirming the witch's silent shock with a nod of his head. "He knows." 

Thinly veiled fear passed over Rysk's hard, proud face as her eyes glazed over in horror. "Black," she whispered. In one liquid movement she had crossed the room and disappeared through the door. Professor McGonagall ran to the threshold and saw the other woman already halfway down the spiralling steps. Minerva watched as Rysk leaped over the banister railing and landed on the tiles far below with catlike grace. In the blink of an eye she was gone. 

**** 

Severus Snape was roused from his haze of miserable self-loathing by the sensation of being watched. He raised his head from his arms and saw Professor 'Harrison' standing in the doorway for half a second. Then she was gone. Snape stared down again at the spilled Soulsbane, which had slowed its creeping movement to a crawl over the stone floor. His muscles jumped and shook as his body and especially his mind craved for the numbing drug, but some part of him wouldn't allow his getting up to make another batch. Events from years ago were playing across Snape's eye, shrieks and screams and two dead bodies which would never stop haunting him no matter how long he lived... 

A dull _thud_ came from farther down the corridor outside. The Potions master glanced up sharply, alarmed, then slowly got to his feet, using the wall as support. On unsteady legs he walked out of the classroom and looked about. Another muffled _thump_ came through a door several meters down on the right. Snape's mouth went dry; that door wasn't supposed to exist. Only a few knew how to summon the Death Eater's cell into being. With none of his usual grace he stumbled to the door and listened hard, pulling out his wand. 

"We've been through this before," came a cold, soft snarl. "Last chance." 

There was a silence, and then a sickening crack. Snape heard a pained curse and then a body hit the floor. "If we find our people dead," said Rysk with just a touch of twisted anticipation, "all the Goddamn Dark Lords in the world won't be able to help you then. Dumbledore's not here this time." 

"You wouldn't," sneered a second voice. 

"Watch me." 

The icy amusement in Rysk's voice raised Snape's flesh. He twisted the doorknob and staggered in. A man of middle age lay on the ground, supported on his arm. His stubble-dotted face was wetted with blood: Rysk had decked him and decked him hard. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher stood before him, wand out and pointing, a vicious gleam in her eyes. "No!" rasped Snape, placing himself between Rysk and the Death Eater. "No. We do not torture." 

Professor 'Harrison's' gaze flickered in surprise before her expression softened strangely. "Get out, professor," she said quietly. "You don't want to see this. Get out." 

Snape struggled for breath, fighting the overwhelming cravings of his body. "We - do - not - torture." 

"We're out of fucking time, Snape," hissed Rysk, and with that she pushed him aside. 

Snape fell back against the wall and saw Rysk raise her wand once again. The Death Eater was inching backwards, fear creeping into his eyes. "No!" 

"_Crucio._" 


	21. Peter Pettigrew's Redemption

"My Lord." Harry distantly felt himself being lowered to cold, rocky ground. He groaned softly, feeling his head throb. 

"And the Ministry wizard?" came a chilling voice. 

Fear crept into the man's answer. "Th-things went awry, master. Someone was coming; I had to leave him in the castle." 

"You disappoint me, Paul," said Lord Voldemort softly. "There were to be no witnesses." 

"Forgive me, my Lord." There was a silence that spoke volumes. "But-but master, I doubt the boy will talk if caught. He has the reputation of the Ministry to think of, not to mention his own." 

"The reputation of half the Ministry," said the amused Dark Lord. "You have done well--but not well enough. Percy Weasley is a loose end." 

A haze lifted from Harry's mind as he realized what was happening. He was lying at the feet of Voldemort. Anger and fear welled up within him, but the near-hysteria surging beneath Ranone's controlled voice stayed him. "If your Lordship would allow me the honor of returning to Hogwarts and completing--" 

"No." Icy, thin fingers traced their way down Harry's face. Vicious bile rose into his mouth and, unable to restrain himself, he scrambled to his feet with a cry of disgust, only to feel his knees buckle beneath an onslaught of dizziness. His arms were twisted painfully behind his back. Harry looked up into Voldemort's face and saw the same red slits, the flat snake's nose, the cruel mouth. A huge, diamond-patterned serpent lay coiled in the Dark Lord's lap. It raised its head and hissed, causing Harry started backwards. As he looked wildly around he saw that two cloaked, hooded figures had stepped forward from the shadows on either side of the cave. Voldemort raised a hand from the arm of his throne-like chair to stay them. 

"Take him to where the werewolf the being held. The speed with which our plan succeeds will determine how you will be reprimanded." he said softly, his eyes never leaving Harry's. Harry ground his teeth and began to struggle against Ranone's hands, which were shaking in relief. "You will find an extra cage. Make sure it is easily...accessible. Hold!" The two Death Eaters on either side froze, wands half drawn. "There is no need to stun him." Voldemort's lips twisted in some parody of an amused smile. "Allow him to make all the noise he wishes." He leaned forward, his voice dropping so that only Harry and Ranone could hear. "It will be good practice for later on, Harry Potter." 

There was a quiet choking noise from behind Voldemort's high seat. Glancing up sharply Harry saw for the first time the pale face of Peter Pettigrew lurking by the Dark Lord's shoulder. Sweat glistened on his brow as he stared at Harry. Voldemort languidly raised one eyebrow. "Do you have something to say, Peter?" 

"No, my Lord." Wormtail swallowed, tearing his eyes away from James Potter's son. 

"Ah, but I think you do." Voldemort's red eyes gleamed cruelly as he continued to stare straight ahead, not looking at his servant. The snake's coils glistened in the flickering torchlight as it wound its way up its master's arm. Voldemort reached out one hand to stroke it. "Perhaps I have not given you enough to do. You must be horribly bored. My apologies." The wizard who had once been Tom Riddle hissed sarcastically, a chilling kind of chuckle. Pettigrew looked too terrified to even protest. "Very well. You will accompany Paul to the back caves to ensure that our...guest...makes a satisfactory amount of noise." 

"Y-yes, my Lord. As you c-command." Wormtail stepped forward, steadfastly avoiding Harry's eyes. Ranone moved aside to grab Harry's left arm while Pettigrew took his right. Harry recoiled from his father's betrayer, feeling the cold silver of Wormtail's false hand seep through his robes. 

"Don't touch me!" he spat, kicking and twisting with all his might. The business end of Ranone's wand dug into his back before tapping against his wrists. A moment later Harry felt ropes explode from the tip and bind his arms tightly together. 

"Do be polite, Harry," said Voldemort insinuatingly. "You might as well make things as pleasant as you can." At the nod of their master's head Wormtail and Ranone began dragging Harry off. He resisted every inch of the way as they forced him through countless twisting and turning tunnels, waving away false dead ends with their wands, winding steadily downwards. As they descended the air became even colder until Harry's teeth were chattering. Soon a wind began whistling through the caves, carrying with its icy bite horrific sounds: the snarls and howls of some wild animal. Harry's struggles weakened as he realized who those sounds must belong to. 

At last they emerged into a vast cavern, lit only by torches set in the walls, but Harry was still blinded after the near pitch-black corridors they had left behind. Ranone put out his wand and pushed him roughly forward. Harry stumbled and fell to his knees. The rough stone tore through the fabric of his pants and drew blood. Accompanying the stinging pain was a strange pang of _deja vu_, but before he could grasp at it he looked up and saw the werewolf in its cage. 

It was a massive beast, rippling with muscle, its eyes devoid of all reason as it slathered and bit at itself, spilling blood, re-opening old scars. The inside of the cage was stained crimson. 

"No," whispered Harry in horror. "Oh, God, Lupin. No." 

The thing that was Remus Lupin tossed back its head and let out a blood-freezing howl. The Death Eaters that surrounded the cage flinched. Harry could hear Wormtail breathing hard as he pulled him to his feet and away. Harry offered no resistance, transfixed by the monstrosity that his former professor had become. Pettigrew led him to an alcove on the other side of the vast cave. The sub-cavern opened up to the outside, explaining where the freezing air came from, and before the exit stood a large cage, of similar make to the one that held Lupin. 

"Bastard!" hissed Harry, finding his tongue and beginning to struggle again, but too late. He was thrust into the cage and the door slammed shut behind him. Harry lunged forward, clutching at the bars of his prison. Pettigrew flinched backwards from where he was casting several charms on the lock. "Look at him!" Wormtail refused to meet his gaze, arms hanging loosely at his side as he stared emptily at the cave floor. "He would have died for you! My father would have died for you, you piece of filth!" Harry's helpless rage rose along with his voice to a shout. "I SHOULD HAVE LET THEM KILL YOU! I should have let them rip you to shreds...look at me, God damn it!" 

Pettigrew hunched his shoulders and turned to walk away. 

"Murderer!" yelled Harry after him, slamming his fist against the cage. "Traitor!" 

Wormtail kept walking and disappeared into the main cavern. It was bitterly cold but Harry hardly felt it as he continued to stare at the small sliver of the larger cave he could see: Lupin in his cage. As the werewolf nearly ripped open its side bile rose in Harry's throat and tears welled in his eyes. He turned away and hugged his knees to his chest, flinching with every inhuman shriek that came from Lupin. 

The hissing wind found its way under his thin robes as he stared out into the night. He saw that they were surrounded by mountains under a black night sky. The slope of the one this cave was in fell rather steeply away from him, blanketed in snow. Groves of evergreens and hardy bushes were scattered as far as the eye could see. 

_If I could get out of this cage, I could escape without much trouble,_ thought Harry, eyeing the outside world. He wondered why they put him so close to freedom, and then realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach. _I'm bait. This is a trap for Sirius and the others. Oh, God, they must have seen him and the others creeping around._ The smell of the situation became fouler as Lupin snarled in the back again. Knowing his godfather, hearing his best friend make such noises would have brought him charging in long ago. The Death Eater must have soundproofed the caves, and hidden them from Muggle eyes as well. 

Harry shrank back into the farthest corner of the cage, determined to keep silent. Sirius would not know he was here. 

Time passed without notice. It might have been a minute or an hour Harry sat shivering violently in the deathly cold. Above the mountains the full moon continued to rise. The fatigue that accompanies freezing slowly overcame him, pulling at his eyelids and making his limbs feel leaden. 

"_Envelop infaredus._" 

Warmth rushed suddenly through Harry's bones. He jerked back from the verge of sleep with a start, twisting around to see Peter Pettigrew tucking his wand away. Two more Death Eaters, Ranone and another, were entering the alcove, speaking in low voices. Wormtail quickly stepped away from the cage. 

"Three by the moon," snapped Ranone, pulling his thick robes closer about him as he stood in the opening of the cave. "He hasn't been very cooperative bait, has he, Pettigrew?" 

"I see no one," said Wormtail, walking up beside the taller man. 

"No? We are dealing with the Order of the Phoenix. I would think you of all people would know that if you do not see them does not mean they are not there." Ranone turned a hard look onto Wormtail, who stared back with unusual nerve. 

_They're going to make me scream whether I want to or not._ Fear raced through Harry as the memory of his time under the Crutacious curse came rolling back. A thousand red-hot needles piercing his skin... 

He whirled in desperation to stare at the werewolf in its cage. The beast had subsided only slightly from blood loss. It continued to claw at itself madly. Its tail was almost in shreds. Harry wanted to vomit but instead focused on the lock of Lupin's cage. 

It was a horrible thing to do, if he could even do it. But it seemed the only option. 

"_Alohamora,_" whispered Harry, brows knitting. His fingers clenched and unclenched, wishing desperately for his wand. "_Alohamora!_" 

Some disagreement had broken out between Ranone and Wormtail behind him. The third Death Eater stood silently by. Harry glanced over his shoulder then looked back to Lupin. He chanted every unlocking Charm he had been taught, from the most simple to ones only seventh years (or Hermione) could manage. 

"I don't have time for this!" Ranone snapped, and before anyone could stop him he raised his wand to point at Harry. 

But, like most humans, he hesitated. 

"_Alohamora!_" cried Harry under his breath, throwing every ounce of himself into it, forcing his mind to reach as far as it would stretch. 

Right before pain seized Harry, before he was forced to scream until his voice was hoarse and twitch like a macabre parody of a puppet, the lock of Lupin's cage clicked. 

**** 

The Alps of France were terribly cold in the winter and a popular tourist locale for skiing. Lord Voldemort had chosen his location well, however. The Order of the Phoenix had spent an entire exhausting day breaking through the Misdirecting and Veiling Charms laid over the cave in the slope of the mountain. Another day without sleep they had lurked in the various groves of pine trees and behind scattered boulders, watching, waiting. They dared not try to contact Albus Dumbledore: the first day of Sirius Black's return an owl had been sent on its way to Hogwarts. In the middle of their search for Voldemort's makeshift headquarters they had found the poor thing stiff on the ground by a tree, its stomach split open and completely gutted. The Dark Mark was branded into one outstretched wing. 

The Order had operated under more pressure than ever after that, knowing that their presence had been discovered. 

Sirius Black frowned, rolling to first one side and then the other to pull his winter robes closer about himself. They dared not use any more magic that necessary for fear of Detection Charms. Even if the Death Eaters knew that the Order was here, there was no sense in giving away their locations. The full moon was past its high point. It was after midnight, but no sound came from the cave they suspected Remus Lupin was being held in, but by all rights there should have been many a blood-freezing howl and other ungodly noises renting air by now. _Another damn spell,_ thought Black. 

He did not like the silence, nor did he like the cage that had been set into plain view several hours ago. Its prisoner had retreated as far back into the shadows as he or she possibly could, so that even using his Ominoculars on high power Sirius could not make out who was in there. 

A sudden noise behind him made Sirius spin around as best he could while lying on his stomach. Through sleep-deprived eyes he scanned the trees behind him, searching for footprints in the snow, but there was no one. Perhaps it was only his exhaustion. He was debating whether or not to send a signal to the others when the shrieks and screams he had been waiting for pierced the night. 

Black stiffened as his mouth went dry. Those were not the sounds of a wolf. He lifted the Ominoculars to his eyes and saw a black-haired boy writhing on the floor of the cage. Three Death Eaters were there, one standing motionless, the one holding the wand...the third was Peter Pettigrew. 

"Oh God. Oh God no, no...!" Sirius resisted the urge to leap to his feet and rush up the hill. He looked about helplessly before taking out his wand to send a silent signal to the others. 

"No, don't," hissed a voice as a hand closed over his. Black gasped and whirled around. "It's a trap," said Rysk. 

"How-how the hell--" 

"They know you're here," insisted the witch. 

"I know they know we're here!" cried Sirius. "I can't leave Harry there!" 

"I know, I know." Rysk looked up the slope to the source of the terrible sounds of Harry's torture. "They took him from Hogwarts a few hours ago; Ranone, Ministry wizard; we'll have to find another way." 

"My God." Black stared at Rysk's fingers, which were quickly taking on a blue tint. "Did you fly?" Without thinking he folded her hands in his own. 

Rysk instantly pulled back. "Yes." She tucked her hands beneath her armpits. Black saw that her winter attire was woefully inadequate, as though she had run out of Hogwarts without stopping to grab anything more than a coat and scarf. For one brief instant Harry took a second seat to the strange bond he shared with the woman. 

"How did you know where we--did he tell you?" he demanded, referring to the Death Eater being held back at Hogwarts. When Rysk hesitated horrified realization crept over his face. "I thought the Truth potions wouldn't work on him," he breathed. "I thought he'd modified his own memory." 

"Memory charms can be broken," said Rysk shortly, grey eyes hardening further. 

"No," choked Sirius. "You didn't. You didn't! Not again!" 

Rysk looked away. "We have to find another way in. Lupin'll keep; I don't know if they're torching Potter for info or if they're just making him scream--" 

At that moment the horrific scene unfolding above Sirius and Rysk exploded. The thrashing body in the cage ceased its movements altogether; Black's breath caught in his throat. 

"What the hell--" Rysk stiffened. "Oh...fucking...Christ." 

The Death Eaters surrounding Harry's cage were scattering in a most unorganized manner. Into the dim light flickering from the small cave came the silhouette of a great wolf. A howl echoed throughout the mountains. 

**** 

The sensation of being eaten alive from the inside out while being assaulted by every sort of pain possible stopped abruptly, leaving Harry struggling to breathe on the floor of the cage. For what seemed an eternity he lay there, limp as a rag and wishing to die. After a while he became aware of chaos and panic in the air; shouts and the sound of running feet coming from the main cavern. He struggled up onto his elbows in time to see Ranone and the other Death Eater Disapparate, their faces frozen in shock. Wormtail was no where to be seen. 

Through a stream of painful tears Harry turned and saw the monstrous werewolf loping into the alcove. It stopped by Harry's cage and tried to push its bloodied snout through the close bars, snarling, glaring at Harry with mad bloodlust. 

"Lupin." Harry's voice shook. "Lupin, it's me. It's me." 

If the wolf understood it gave no sign. Unable to get to the boy inside the cage it stalked to where the alcove opened up to the outside world, where it was beginning to snow. Lupin through his head back and let out a frightening howl before leaping to the ground below and running off. 

Harry was left to shiver, exposed to cold air once again. The catch to the Warmth charm was that one had to concentrate a bit to maintain it and while under the Crutacious curse this was impossible to do. He stared at the trail of red that the wolf had left behind on the stone until a sudden noise made him look up wearily. 

Wormtail was at the lock of the cage. He murmured something over it and a click was heard. "Go," he said. A new light had come into his dead eyes. For the first time he met Harry's gaze. "Go, Harry." 

Slowly, feeling as though in a dream, Harry made his way to the door and pushed it open. His weak legs somehow managed to support him and for a moment he stood, staring at Pettigrew. Then he turned and slid his way down the slope of the mountain, falling several times. The snow-laden wind whipped his hair as he looked up and saw a trail of blood staining the footprints of a wolf leading away up the mountain. Harry struggled to his feet and ran the opposite direction. 

The snow was knee-deep in places. Time once again lost meaning as Harry plowed down toward a grove of evergreens, thinking only of shelter from the cruel wind. His thin robes flapped as his glasses quickly became coated with white, forcing him to wipe at his face every other second to see where he was going. At last he stumbled into the trees. Wrapping his robes as tightly as he could about himself Harry slid to the ground, his back against the thickest pine he could find, and tried to stay alive. 

**** 

"He's out!" 

"What?" shouted Rysk, looking up. The wind was quickly becoming a violent gale. She and Black were high up in the boughs of a pine tree. Rysk insisted that they climb it, pointing out that being caught on the ground with a werewolf on the loose was not a good idea. As the snowstorm grew steadily worse, however, sitting in a tree was quickly becoming just as bad. 

Black glanced down. The other was horribly cold, though he knew she'd never admit it until she was near death. "Harry!" he yelled over the wind. Rysk instantly stood on her branch and began climbing up towards him. 

"Where?!" Sirius pointed. Rysk followed his finger, squinting against the snow. A small figure was struggling down the mountainside, barely visible through the storm. Harry was several kilometers above them and veering sharply to the left. "How did he get out?" 

"I don't know; I can't see anything." 

"Shit, he's not coming over here..." 

"HARRY!" screamed Black at the top of his lungs. The wind scattered his voice every which way. "HARRY!" 

"Shut up!" cried Rysk, gripping his arm hard. "Send a message." 

Sirius drew out his wand with numb fingers and murmured an incantation, followed by words that Rysk could not make out. Black had earlier sent a signal to abort all plans and lay low. Now the wands of the rest of the Order should be tapping out a message in code to stay on the lookout for Harry. 

"We can't stay out here all night." 

A determined, obsessed light was in Black's eyes. "I will if I have to." 

**** 

As suddenly as the snow began, it stopped. 

Harry tilted his head back as the air cleared. His shoulders and head were covered in white, as was every needle of the trees that surrounded him. Shivering violently he forced himself to his feet, fighting the overwhelming urge to sleep. The moon had moved again, almost an hour, or so he thought (Astronomy had never been his strongest subject). 

_Near three or four. _The blanket of nothingness coating the Alps had thickened by almost a foot. _I should try to get down; get help,_ thought Harry numbly. _I'm not going to last much longer._   


"_Envelop infaredus,_" he muttered emptily for the hundredth time. Nothing happened. Harry forced himself to move as far as the edge of the grove before the shriek of an animal reached his ears. Harry froze: Lupin was still on the loose. 

"I hope he tears a Death Eater to shreds," said Harry out loud, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Talking to himself seemed to help him stay alert, so he continued. "But he could just as easily come and tear _me_ apart. Don't want to wander around. But if I stay here..." He looked up at the pine trees surrounding him. "Wolves can't climb trees. Can they? God, I don't believe this..." 

A human voice, so faint it was almost unrecognizable, interrupted Harry's monologue. He glanced up sharply, keen eyes searching the sea of whiteness that was the base of the mountain. "Harrrry!" It came again. "_Harrrry!_" 

"I'm here!" he shouted without thinking. His voice was hoarse and weak. "I'M HERE!" He fell silent an instant later, cursing himself quietly. It could have been Voldemort's servants calling his name, and if not, such yelling might attract a werewolf's attention. The voice called again, closer this time. Harry did not answer. 

He ran in circles to keep himself warm, to stay awake, but soon he was forcing himself to put on foot in front of another. The Warmth charm would not work. After half an hour Harry came to a standstill, watching his breath mist and linger in the air before his face. A sleepiness unlike any other crept over him, and even as his mind kicked and screamed to stay upright, his body fell over into the snow and blessed slumber claimed him. 

**** 

Harry felt warm water running inside his mouth. It trickled down into his windpipe. He gasped and choked, then sat up and started coughing. 

"He's awake." 

Harry's eyes watered as he looked around the room. He was on the floor of a small log cabin, wrapped in blankets. Beside him crouched a wizard, his dreadlocks dusted with white. He reminded Harry of Lee Jordan. "Here," said the man, holding the cup of steaming water to Harry's lips. Harry wrapped his hands around the mug, grateful that his fingers were no longer burning cold, and took several slow sips. A vague taste of an herb lingered on his tongue as the tea warmed his insides. 

"What--where am I?" He looked at the man questioningly, then started when he caught sight of an old lady standing by the window, looking out into the white world. She turned her birdlike face towards him. "Mrs. Figg?" he gasped, nearly dropping the cup. 

Indeed, it was Mrs. Figg of Privett Drive, the crazy old woman who had forced Harry to look through albums upon albums of cats. "You're lucky to be alive, Harry," she said sharply. "Another thirty minutes and you would have been dead." 

Harry blinked, shaking his head. "What are you _doing _here?" He looked down to see that he had taken off his glasses and was wiping them on his stiff shirt without realizing it. 

The man raised an eyebrow. "I thought Sirius told him about us?" he said to Mrs. Figg. 

"How much is the question," replied the witch grimly. 

"You're the Order," said Harry suddenly, shoving his glasses back on and sitting up straighter. The idea of his old neighbor being an Auror was enough to break his last nerve. He began laughing hysterically. "You're part of the _Order!_" 

"Harry!" The wizard who had offered him tea pushed him back down, clearly alarmed. When Harry had calmed he went on with a bite of terseness in his voice. "Yes, we are part of the Order. That is Arabella Figg, although I gather you've met before. I am Mundungus Fletcher." 

The name sounded strangely familiar; Harry was sure Dumbledore had mentioned it sometime last year. "Where are we?" 

"A tent," said Figg shortly, pacing back and forth in front of the window. Suddenly she stopped and slapped a hand against the glass. "Merlin curse it all, where are they?!" 

"Calm down, Arabella," said Fletcher. Harry thought that he shouldn't be talking; the man looked absolutely frantic in an exhausted sort of way. He rose and walked to the old woman's side, towering over her. Both Aurors had deep bags under their eyes. "He's probably still looking for Harry." 

"If he's still looking for Harry why in Merlin's name can't we get a message through to him?" snapped Figg. 

"Who?" Harry sat up in alarm. "Is it Sirius?" 

Figg dealt the window another blow and began muttering a string of curses under her breath that frightened Harry more than any werewolf could have. Fletcher was a bit more cooperative, if not reassuring. "You've been asleep for half an hour," he explained, turning to Harry. "Your godfather is still out there, no doubt searching for you. We have a way of communicating, but we can't get through to him. We don't know where he is." 

Fletcher's patience under his obvious strain was amazing, but given the circumstances Harry couldn't appreciate it. "Why can't you get to him?" he cried. 

The Auror sighed. "It requires his wand to tap out a sort of code. If he's using it for some kind of spell we can't get a message through." 

"Go look for him! There's a werewolf out there!" The thought of Sirius being bitten by his own best friend was too much to bear. Harry jumped to his feet, nearly tripping over the blankets that tangled about his legs. 

"Someone _is_ looking for him," snapped Figg irately. "Two others, William and Orion. If they don't find him in another few minutes they'll come back and--sweet Morgana Le Fey!" 

Mundungus Fletcher turned quickly to follow his Figg's gaze. Harry ran over to join them. "What is it?" 

High up on the mountain's base red sparks were being sent into the sky, erupting from a very thick stand of pines, almost a small forest. "That's not his station," breathed Fletcher. "It's on the other side of the mountain!" 

"No; it's by mine. How did he manage to...?!" 

"They're sending up the red ones." As quick as a wink Fletcher had grabbed two discarded winter robes on the floor and tossed one to Mrs. Figg. "Can you Apparate up there?" 

"I think." Figg extended a hand while as she struggled into the thick robes. Fletcher clasped her fingers. 

"Harry, stay here," he ordered as Figg drew her wand. 

Harry stumbled backwards away from the window, transfixed by the silent flares that streamed continuously into the air above the trees. His hand groped blindly for a second before his fingers locked around Fletcher's forearm with surprising strength. "No." 

Mundungus couldn't do more than look surprised before the walls of the cabin disappeared. 

**** 

"Do something useful!" screamed Rysk at Orion, who was sending up sparks. She cocked her wand to block another curse from a Death Eater before grabbing a handful of snow and flinging it at the black-robed wizard. The Death Eater reeled back, blinded, and Sirius took advantage of his position up in the tree to aim his wand. 

"_Stupefy!_" 

The Death Eater jerked and fell still as Rysk disarmed him. Black glanced wildly around in the moonlight . Orion was still holding his wand high, clinging to the branch above him and unleashing a stream of flares. William, backed up against the trunk of a pine, was grappling with two of Voldemort's servants at once. All three had lost their wands somewhere in the snow. Sirius dared not try to stun either of them for fear accidentally hitting William. In the dark he could make out two of the enemy lying prone on the ground below. Rysk had vanished. 

William managed to push one of his attackers, a witch, away. As the woman stumbled back Black hit her with a spell and she fell to the ground. 

"Four down, one to go..." 

Two things happened at once then: Rysk flew from out of nowhere and grabbed the last of the Death Eaters (who had taken William by his long red hair); slammed him against another tree, and three figures Apparated into the middle of the grove. 

"Harry!" Sirius clambered down the pine, ignoring the masses of snow that fell into his face. He raced through the snow to his godson and took his face in his hands. "Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine; I'm fine," said Harry, pulling away from Black's cold fingers. His godfather felt him up and down, as if trying to make sure that every bone was intact. 

"What's going on?" demanded Fletcher, his wand out and at the ready as he scanned the grove. "Who's she?" 

Rysk had shoved her forearm beneath her captive's chin and forced it up until his entire throat was exposed. Her right hand was held in a strange way, as if gripping something nobody could see and pressing it against his flesh. "Long way from the Ministry, isn't it?" she said conversationally, but her eyes were blazing. Harry started with a gasp when he recognized the Death Eater as Paul Ranone. The wizard's hands came up, his robe's sleeves falling away to reveal the Dark Mark burned into his arm, but Rysk only pushed her fingers closer to his throat. Ranone cried out as blood began to trickle down his neck. "I ought to kill you," she hissed. 

"Rysk," said Sirius quietly. "Rysk!" She looked over sharply. Their gazes caught and held and for a moment it seemed to Harry that something passed between them. Then his teacher stepped back and sheathed her invisible blade, bringing her wand's tip to rest on Ranone's chest. "_Stupefy._" 

Ranone fell, and with him the strange spell of silence that had taken sway over the stand of trees. "Where were you?" demanded Figg, glaring up at Orion and then to William. "It's been an hour!" 

"We'll bloody explain after we get these scum back to the tent," said a man with long red hair, stepping forward to bind one of the unconscious Death Eaters, but at that moment Harry heard a voice shouting up in the trees: "Leave them! Leave them! Get back to the tent!" 

"What is it?" shouted Rysk, glancing up at the wizard. Harry saw that she was trembling violently from the cold. 

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET BACK TO THE TENT _NOW_!" bellowed Orion, his voice distorted by panic. "IT'S LUPIN!" 

There was a horrified silence before everyone Disapparated except for Sirius, Harry, and Rysk. "What the fuck are you doing?" shouted Rysk as Sirius swung up into the boughs of a pine. 

"Someone has to keep track of him," replied Black as he continued to climb. "Take Harry and get out!" 

Rysk ran through the snow to the foot of Sirius's tree. "Are you out of you God damn mind?!" 

"I'm not leaving him!" Sirius looked down from up high. "He's coming! Get out!" 

Harry turned around as he heard the muffled sound of running from somewhere in the thick grove. The werewolf came into view, its teeth bared, slobber flying from its jaws. Blood glistened on its wickedly curved claws as it barrelled towards him. 

"Shit!" Rysk spun around to grab Harry, but he was already halfway up the tree. "Potter...!" She glanced over her shoulder and with impressive fluidity leapt into the pine after him. 

The sudden addition of Rysk's weight swayed the tree slightly. Harry's foot slipped onto an icy patch on the trunk. He wavered...fought for balance...fell... 

"_Harry_!" 

Rysk's outstretched hand missed his robes by centimeters as he fell past her. He landed on his stomach painfully, winded. Lupin, who had been sniffing at Ranone, lifted his head when he saw movement on the ground. 

Moving flesh. Moving blood. 

Harry was used to struggling for breath after a hard fall, but as he looked up and saw the terror of nightmares lunging towards him, crimson-stained fangs coming closer, closer...He lifted a hand, tried to move; distantly he heard voices crying his name... 

There was a strangled yell from somewhere in the grove before Harry saw the blur of black robes coming straight towards him. He was knocked aside painfully. The wolf's intended victim had been replaced by another. The boy who lived watched helplessly from where he lay as Lupin tore into Peter Pettigrew's leg. Harry's eyes widened in shock as he gasped desperately for breath. 

Wormtail had saved his life. 

The man who had once been his father's friend stared into Harry's face even though the werewolf continued to maul him. Red blood stained the snow for yards around as Pettigrew screamed and struggled against the wolf. Yet it seemed to Harry that he did not struggle; that relief came into his eyes as he stared at Harry and mouthed: "Forgive me." 

"NO!" screamed Sirius. "NO, REMUS, STOP, STOP!" Rysk caught his arms and held him as he tried to climb down the tree. "Let me go! Let me go! Remus! Remus, no!" 

"You idiot; he'll kill you, too!" 

As Lupin ripped Pettigrew's stomach open Harry felt uncontrollable bile rise in his throat; he turned on his knees and vomited. As he wiped his watering eyes he realized that the sickening, wet sounds of an animal feeding had ceased. He turned and saw that the werewolf had frozen, gore still hanging in its mouth. Its mad eyes were glazed and its panting filled the trees. It began to spasm and to howl terribly, but did not move. 

Weak, pale sunlight filtered through the trees. Dawn had come. 

Slowly the werewolf lost its muscle, its fur. Soon in its place was a naked man on his fours, painfully thin, shaking uncontrollably. Remus Lupin looked around, his gaze unseeing, and glanced down at the angry gashes on his body confusedly. Then he saw the mangled, bloody mess that had once been Wormtail. He stared at the blood on his hands, a look of horror coming over his face, and began to shriek incoherently, falling onto his back and kicking away from the body. The red snow was steadily spreading. 

"Remus!" Black broke free of Rysk and leapt to the ground. He ran to his friend and tried to grab his shoulders. Lupin continued to scream like a madman, lashing out weakly against Sirius. Black managed to subdue him and after a moment of struggling the werewolf began to sob violently. "No," he moaned, "no, please, please, no, I didn't do it, I didn't do it, no, _please...!_" 

Sirius held Lupin as he continued to weep, rocking him back and forth like a child even as he himself continued to cry bitterly. 

Harry was unable to tear his gaze away from the mass of bone and flesh that remained of Peter Pettigrew. His blood pounded in his ears and his breath was shallow, but his eyes remained dry. Suddenly he felt arms enveloping him, turning him around, and found his face buried in Rysk's shoulder. Then the tears came: great sobs that racked his body. 

"Don't look," said Rysk coldly, but her touch was strangely gentle as she placed a hand on Harry's head. "Don't look." 


	22. A Puzzling Reunion

*g* Well, the action/adventure's done and over with. ;) Maybe. Thanks so much, readers and reviewers! By the way, Katarina Freeman and Agent 99 (Jess) have done some coolio pics of Rysk for me. Many thanks! The links are here: http://www.dreamwater.org/jade/Rysk.jpg (Katarina's) and http://www.dreamwater.org/jade/Rysk2small.jpg (Jess's). You might want to copy/paste the URLs...it won't work otherwise. (Strange, I know. Don't ask me.) Again, thanks so much to everyone!   
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"Don't let her up." 

Rysk glared coldly at Orion as he tried to stop her from sitting up. "You're in worse shape than I am, Black." She glanced at her watch. "It's been an hour. Lie your ass down." 

"I'm not the one with hypothermia." Sirius wearily wrapped the blankets tighter around Lupin, lying on the floor before the fire. 

"You're exhausted," snapped Rysk, throwing off her covers and pushing past Orion. She paid no heed to his quiet protest. 

"She's right." Sirius looked suddenly to the other side of the room, where Harry was staring at him closely. Unbeknownst to any in the room the boy had woken up and had been watching for quite some time. His godfather's eyes were bloodshot and his face was terribly pale. 

"Not you, too." 

In the end he wasn't given much choice: Rysk stood up and bodily dragged him away from Lupin. Black's resistance was pathetically weak as he was deposited beside Harry. "See?" said Rysk coolly, placing a hand on Sirius's arm, where Harry could see the muscle trembling. Rysk turned and pointed her wand at the pile of blankets she had abandoned. "Accio." They landed on top of Sirius. Rysk walked to Lupin and knelt beside him, sending Black a warning look that was also strangely reassuring. 

"He'll start screaming," cautioned Orion, sitting down with his back against the wall and drawing his knees to his chest. 

"I know," replied Rysk dryly. "That's what woke me up. Don't even, Black," she added when she saw Harry place a restraining hand on Sirius's shoulder when he made to get up. "I've had more damn sleep than any of you. Potter, get back to sleep." 

Harry lay back down but did not close his eyes: he dared not return to the nightmares. Twice he had awoken in cold sweat, Pettigrew's desperate face burned into his mind. 

Forgive me. 

For a while he lay there with his cheek against the hard wooden planks, staring at Black's back until he heard him murmur, "She has hypothermia." 

She'll live, thought Harry, too tired to say it out loud, pulling the covers closer about himself. If anyone had escaped the least scathed it was Rysk--she was the only one in the room not suffering from hypothermia and exhaustion. She seemed to have recovered fairly quickly using infraredus. Some impulse made Harry raise himself up on an elbow (Mundungus Fletcher's large but dry robes hanging off of him) to look at his teacher. Rysk was idly examining the frostbite on her fingers but no longer shivering or biting at blue lips. She moved closer to the fire and held her hands before it; the flames flickered in her grey eyes. 

"Where's everyone else?" asked Harry quietly. Rysk looked sharply at him, then to Sirius. Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "He's asleep." 

"Still up, Potter?" 

"I can't sleep." 

"You're exhausted and frozen," said Rysk with a hint of wryness. She tilted her head and stared at Harry piercingly until he looked away. "Potter?" 

"Nightmares," mumbled Harry. 

For a while all that could be heard was the crackling of the fireplace. Harry rubbed his fingers absently, grateful to feel them again. "You'll get over it." Rysk was staring into the flames as though transfixed by another place, another time. There was another moment of silence before she shifted to sit back with her legs outstretched. "They're all asleep, I think," she replied to his original question. She glanced at Orion and Harry saw that the Auror had nodded off against the wall. "But Fletcher's keeping an eye on them." 

"The Death Eaters?" Rysk nodded. Harry went on. "We ought to get to Dumbledore." 

Rysk's face hardened. "We will. First we have to make sure he won't lose it again." She gestured towards Lupin, who shifted uneasily. Harry felt a shiver run up his spine. 

"He would have killed me," he said without thinking. Rysk looked at him for a moment. 

"That wasn't him," she said finally, turning back to the fire. "Besides." A new edge had come into her voice as she dropped her head toward one shoulder to glance sidelong at Harry, so briefly and subtly he wondered if he hadn't imagined it. "I don't think he'll remember exactly what happened. I don't think he'll ever know he was going for you." 

"I won't tell him." Harry's voice was filled with fierce conviction. "It'd only make things worse. I won't tell him, not ever." 

"No, Potter." Rysk steepled her fingers, a shadow passing over her face. "You shouldn't." 

**** 

"Them dirty, rotten dark wizards!" Hagrid blew his nose as he ranted against Harry's abductors furiously. "Filthy, stinkin' cowards!" 

"There, there, Hagrid," said Hermione, patting his back awkwardly (even standing on her toes she barely reached his shoulder). "He'll be all right. It's Harry; he'll be all right." She smiled bravely, even though Hagrid's carrying on had only deepened her worry. 

Hagrid sniffled again, wiping away a fat tear that rolled down his cheek. "Yer right," he said, trying to sound resolute. "'arry beat the Dark Lord once, an' he'll do it again!" 

"Right," said Ron, shifting in his hard wooden chair, feet dangling off the ground. He swallowed a lump in his throat. 

Ron and Hermione were in Hagrid's hut. It was eleven o'clock of December 29. Classes had been cancelled yesterday for a several days while the teachers focused on finding Harry Potter and exactly who had breached the school's defenses. As soon as they had heard they had bolted away across the grounds after breakfast to see their friend. At the very mention of Harry Hagrid had dissolved into angry tears--again (his face and eyes were red and puffy when he had answered the door). 

"I still can't believe i' was only last night," said Hagrid. "But enough o' my weepin' an' wailin'. If you two're disgusted I don't blame ye." 

"Of course we aren't, Hagrid," reassured Hermione, shooting her boyfriend a look. Ron shook his head earnestly. 

"S'kind of you," said the half-giant, turning as the tea kettle whistled. He took it from over the fire and set it on the table, along with a huge mug for himself and two teacups which looked amazingly tiny in his gigantic hands. 

"Tell us about the envoy to the giants," suggested Ron as Hagrid poured his tea, carefully aiming with one eye, the corner of his tongue sticking out of his mouth. 

Hagrid obliged eagerly. The hand of friendship extended by Dumbledore had not been clasped without suspicion, but even the grudging acceptance was more than had been hoped for: leaders of nearly all the giant tribes had agreed to a tentative peace with Hogwarts and Beaubaxtons. Some had even promised to oppose Voldemort and his servants, but no solid alliance had yet been made. "But i' was somethin'," said Hagrid, "an' I can't say I blame 'em fer not takin' up with us then an' there, what with they way they been treated fer so long." 

"You know," said Hermione after a moment, "there's another magical race I think we need to win over. Or one I wish we could, anyway." 

"Who?" asked Ron. 

"The house elves." Hagrid visibly braced himself for another wave of passionate S.P.E.W. sentiments, but Hermione said nothing of the sort. 

"Why the hell do we care about the house elves, 'mione?" 

"Think about it. You remember how Dobby warned Harry not to go to Hogwarts in our second year? Winky knew things that...well, you know what she knew. The house elf of a Death Eater may well know almost everything about the family. They're an important source of information." 

Ron settled back into his chair, looking thoughtful. "You know, you're right." He glanced at Hagrid, who was nodding at Hermione with new respect and mulling over the notion. "But most house elves aren't Dobby. They wouldn't dare--they wouldn't want to." 

"I know," said Hermione with a sigh. "It's too bad." She sipped her rather bitter tea and laid a hand on Fang's head when the great dog whined for attention. 

There was a silence for a while in the hut, punctuated only by the sounds of drinking and the occasional tap of a mug or teacup against the wooden table. At length Ron caught Hermione's eye and gestured with a nod of his head when Hagrid wasn't looking. Hermione cleared her throat. "Where do you think Professor Harrison's gone off to?" she asked. 

Hagrid started, nearly dropping his mug, and looked up at them warily. "Gone off to?" he blustered. "Nonsense! Where'd you hear that?" 

"Around," replied Ron, waving vaguely. 

"You must have heard wrong," said Hagrid, becoming gruff and close-mouthed. "More tea?" 

"Must have heard her name wrong too, then." Ron's voice was light. "I swear I heard it was 'Harrison', but maybe it's 'Rysk'. What about you, 'mione?" He glanced at his girlfriend. Hermione nodded. 

Hagrid sputtered for a moment, at a loss. "Well, well...well now, don't you go tossin' that around," he said, making his voice stern, frowning through his tangled mess of a beard and glaring at them. "Professor Harrison's business is her own an' you two've no right to go stickin' yer noses into i'." 

"But she's so strange," insisted Hermione. 

"Maybe she is, but a fine good teacher. Best duellist I've ever seen, 'cept 'praps fer Remus Lupin, an' then I couldn't say who'd come out on top. You mind her now, hear?" 

"So how did she learn all this duelling stuff?" said Ron, leaning forward. "Just in, what, three years of courses?" 

At this Hagrid became truly flustered, turning around and making a great noise clattering and cleaning the mismatched teacups. "Merlin's beard if I know," he said roughly over the sound of running water. "Learned quick is all I know. Never set foot in 'ogwarts 'til she was old enough to be sixth year an' graduated wi' just two years under 'er belt." He turned around, wiping his hands dry on his trousers. "No one rightly knows where she came from, so you two 'ad better save yerselves the trouble." 

"Really," said Hermione thoughtfully. Hagrid looked absolutely furious with himself. 

**** 

"Harry!" 

Ron and Hermione flung themselves upon him, nearly upsetting the entire bed. All three laughed as they embraced. Harry thought he would burst with joy even though he could barely breathe and Hermione's tears were soaking his shoulder. Madam Pomfrey gave up on trying to tug them off, continuing to insist in her most frightening voice that they "stop that this instant!". At last they drew back. Pomfrey caught Ron's arm in a firm grip and tried to drag him out the door, nearly beside herself. 

"No!" protested Harry, holding out a hand, still laughing. "No, Madam Pomfrey, it's all right. I'm all right. Let them stay, please." 

"'twon't happen again, ma'am, I promise," said Ron, trying his best to look charigned and failing miserably. 

The nurse glared at the three of them before sniffing and relenting with the parting threat of, "If you upset him, I'll have your hides!" 

"Are you all right?" exclaimed Hermione, whirling around after she had made certain Pomfrey had disappeared into her office. 

"Frostbite's gone," said Harry, holding up his hands and expending some effort to maintain his cheerful expression. 

"Frostbite! Bloody hell, Harry." Ron summoned two chairs haphazardly from across the ward. "Tell us everything!" 

A shadow passed swiftly over Harry's face now. Hermione caught it and frowned, narrowing her eyes slightly, but wisely held her peace for which Harry was relieved. He hesitated, wondering where to begin, and what to omit. "I went up to wrap your presents after sneaking down to the kitchens and dropping off Dobby's present." 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Clothing?" 

"A tie." 

"So that's what took so long," muttered Ron. 

"Right," said Harry, and this time the lie was not too quick but timed exactly right. "I stayed up in the common room a bit longer 'cause I couldn't get the bloody wrapping paper right." 

"No, you couldn't," said Hermione was a faint smile. "Dancing penguins." 

Harry grinned, but it felt hollow when he saw the uncomfortable look on Ron's face. His friend was staring at the ground, both nervous and sullen. He continued to watch Ron was he went on. "I started to go back. On the way down the staircase--the one between the second and third floor, I think--my scar started to hurt. I turned around and Ranone was standing there." Harry lowered his voice. "He's a Death Eater." 

"Ranone?" cried Hermione. Ron fidgeted; for once, Hermione didn't seem to notice. Or did she? Harry saw her eyes flick to the side. "But how did he get in? Dumbledore has all kinds of charms around the school--not charms! Spells! A Death Eater would have never--" 

"I don't know how he did it," said Harry quietly, and added dryly, "I didn't really think about it. He knocked me out." 

Ron's shoulders relaxed visibly. He remained silent as Harry recounted the rest in full, or what they believed was the rest in full: Harry made sure to leave the members of the Order out, and pretending to be almost confused as they were about what had transpired in the mountains that night. He did this by making himself out to have been unconscious throughout much more of the ordeal than was true. 

He said nothing of Peter Pettigrew. It would be a long, long time before Harry could discuss that with anyone, even his two closest friends. 

There were several awkward and stunned silences as he told of Lupin's imprisonment and his own torture. Hermione was fighting tears by the time he was finished. 

"I can't believe it," she breathed. "Poor Lupin. Oh, poor Lupin." 

"So that's where Rysk went," said Ron quietly. Hermione glanced quickly at him. "She flew? To the bloody Alps of France?" Harry nodded. "Fucking crazy. She should be dead." 

"You knew she was gone?" demanded Harry. Hermione nodded earnestly. 

"The night you disappeared, Rysk did, too, but I think we were the only ones who knew it. I was leading everyone back to the common room with Flitwick and Snape came stumbling up from the dungeons right when Dumbledore came down the steps--he was practically running. They almost ran into each other and Snape kept saying, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she's gone.' We figured it out from there." 

Harry was silent for a while. "He probably tried to stop her from going," he said slowly. For a moment he was tempted to tell his friends about Snape's use of Soulsbane. Hermione most likely knew what it was and together they could blackmail the Potions master into awarding points to Gryffindor, most likely. But the memory of his teacher's hollow, despairing eyes looking at him from inside the dungeon cell stopped him. "I still want to know how she knew where to find us." 

"I don't," said Hermione with a shudder. Harry looked quizzically at Ron. 

"Old Snape was shaking all over." Ron put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Looked like he was going buggy. Absolutely bloody buggy. He's been teaching classes like a zombie, except for one time when Neville pissed him off. I thought he was going to kill him, if Malfoy didn't do it first, and then us, I swear." 

"What?" 

Hermione leaned forward. "He provoked Malfoy about his father." 

"No! Neville?" Harry blinked. "Wait. His father?" 

"You were right, Harry." Hermione's voice was grim. "He's dead. He was one of the Death Eaters killed." 

"And good riddance." 

"Ron!" Hermione glared reproachfully. 

"Please, it's Malfoy," snorted Ron, leaning back in the chair and crossing one ankle over his knee. "The less of his kind, the better." 

"So Rysk knew," breathed Harry, so quietly that neither of the others heard. He looked up suddenly, startled by a thought. "What day is it?" 

"January 2nd," replied Hermione gently. "You've been asleep for three days." 

Harry passed a hand over his face, feeling a bit tired, almost old. When he opened his eyes his friends were looking at him strangely. He smiled reassuringly. "I guess I've missed out on a lot, too." He sat up straighter. "Tell me everything." 

Hermione and Ron had not been idle. Although answers and information regarding Harry's abduction and the rise of the Dark Lord were scarce, they had found a most reliable if surprising source of what there was: Neville Longbottom, whose Auror parents had recovered and were quickly getting in touch with others of their kind. "They belonged to some group of Aurors, but Neville wouldn't say anything else." 

The Order, thought Harry, and wondered how many more might be in St. Mungo's, their minds broken from the horrible, agonizing Crutacious curse. He shuddered. 

It was Neville who had first told them (with glee) that Lucius Malfoy had indeed been one of the Death Eaters killed in Ireland. A Mr. Tantra of the Ministry of Magic had disappeared--"on holiday" was the official story. 

"Tantra?" said Harry sharply as the barb of a half remembered dream stung the back of his mind. His brows knitted. 

"Yes, Tantra," replied Hermione. "Harry, are you all right?" 

"Fine." He quickly smoothed his expression. "Name sounded familiar, that's all." 

They went on to tell him of their visit to Hagrid. "He wouldn't tell us a thing about where she'd gone off to--but I don't think he really knew," finished Ron as Harry laid back against the pillows to think. "At least the giants agreed to something." Harry nodded slowly. "But what do you make of Rysk?" 

"I don't know. But I think...I think she's on our side for sure." He glanced at at them from the corner of his eye. "She fought for us. Nearly slit Ranone's throat, too." 

"Oh, really? Somehow I think I'd like it better if she were on their side," said Ron sourly. 

"I don't know," he said again. He sat up and looked around the otherwise empty ward, as if expecting to find his teacher standing by a bed. "Where is she, anyway?" 

"We don't know." Hermione looked frustrated. "Dumbledore never said a word about Moony or Padfoot or anything, just that you'd been found. I really don't think any of the students except us knows she left Hogwarts." She sighed and stretched. "They cancelled classes for a while, you know." 

"Yeah, and actually started them up again on New Year's Eve--can you believe it?" Ron sounded indignant. "Everyone's been acting edgy, except Rysk. She's been acting too normal."   



	23. Wounds Not Yet Healed

Harry sighed and shifted agitatedly, chewing rather than sucking on his Sugar Quill. He was in no hurry to begin the five-parchment review Snape has assigned for Potions. In another day Pomfrey would release him back into the school and frantic studying for the O.W.L.s would begin. Although the dreaded exams were several months away horrific stories about how terribly difficult they were usually spurred most of the student body into full gear around this time of year. Harry even remembered George and Fred Weasely cracking the books last year. Even though there were still another four months to go he was feeling anything but confident about his chances at passing with a decent amount of Wizarding Levels. He moved on to the next parchment in the pile, skimming absently. Something caught his eye. 

_The result of adding the powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood is known as:_

A strange, unbidden smile quirked at Harry's lips. That had been the very first question Professor Snape had ever asked him at the start of his first year. He felt a pang of nostalgia: it seemed so long ago. Why he was pining for the days of bullying and humiliation from the Potions master was beyond Harry; in any case his first year at Hogwarts seemed so long ago. _Only four years, really,_ thought Harry as he reached for a real quill and wrote _The Draught of Living Death _on the parchment. _Four years isn't such a long time._

He absently read the rest of the packet, unable to focus properly. Despite his questions about what was happening and outright demands to know where his godfather was, he had discovered nothing except that both Percy Weasley and Paul Ranone were to be held on trial before the Ministry. Harry closed his eyes, feeling that if he stayed cooped up in this ward any longer he might be moving into the room at St. Mungo's that Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom had vacated. 

The dreams weren't helping either. There were times when he would sit up in the dead of the night, breathing hard and trying not to scream, the crimson of blood-stained snow still fading from his the inside of his eyelids. 

Harry glanced down and noticed that his Sugar Quill was halfway gone. With a frown he tossed Snape's assignment onto the bedside stand just as the door of the ward quietly opened. He started as Albus Dumbledore stepped through. "Good afternoon, Harry," he said with a smile. Madam Pomfrey came to the door of her office but did not protest, simply looked at the Headmaster before nodding once and disappearing again. Harry blinked, puzzled for a moment, before launching into a barrage of questions as Dumbledore approached. 

"Headmaster...! What's going on? Where's Sirius? Lupin?" 

Dumbledore held up a hand and Harry fell silent, biting his lip. "Come with me, Harry." 

Harry leapt out of bed instantly, grabbing some robes he had stuffed under the pillow and throwing it over his pajamas. "Where's Sirius?" he demanded again in a low, terse voice, summoning his shoes from somewhere beneath the bed. 

"Patience, Harry." Dumbledore's eyes, although tired, twinkled merrily over his half-moon spectacles. He turned and Harry followed after him, not bothering to finish tying the other shoelace. They did not go far: Dumbledore stopped in front of the door leading out of the ward and, waving his wand, murmured under his breath. Then he opened the door and instead of the hallway a small but comfortable room was revealed on the other side. In a plush chair sat Sirius Black beside a narrow bed. Harry gaped. 

"H-how...?" 

Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "This room does not exist unless summoned into being. But now is not the time for lessons," he said, giving him a gentle push into the room. Black had spun around and stood at the sound of their entry; now his deeply shadowed eyes lit up. "I believe you two will want to catch up," said the Headmaster, nodding to Black. He smiled once again at Harry before backing out of the room. The door closed. 

"Are you all right?" asked Sirius immediately and anxiously, crossing the distance between them in two strides and looking into Harry's face with concern. 

"I'm fine," replied Harry quietly. 

"Are you sure?" Black looked him over one last time before smiling and pulling him into a brief embrace. "I'm so glad you're all right," he said, a bit awkwardly. "I'm leaving tomorrow, you see...Remus needs some time away from people." 

Harry suddenly saw the tousled brown head upon the pillows of the bed and a curious, numb feeling came over his body. He walked slowly to Lupin's side. "How is he?" 

"Better." Sirius sounded infinitely tired as Harry put a light hand on Lupin's shoulder. "He wouldn't even talk to me for a while. He still wakes up screaming sometimes..." Harry turned and stared at his godfather. Black smiled wanly, studying him. "You look all right." Harry nodded, looking back at Lupin, feeling his eyes attracted to the werewolf like iron to a magnet. He slowly slid down the wall to the floor. 

"You, too." 

Black frowned and walked over to sit next to him. "What is it?" He followed Harry's gaze to Lupin. "Harry?" 

"Are you happy?" asked Harry. His voice sounded strangely hollow, devoid of accusation or anything else. "That he's dead, I mean." 

There was a silence. "Peter?" 

"You wanted to kill him." 

Black drew a long, shuddering breath, pulling his knees to his chest. "I don't know," he said finally. "He saved your life, Harry. At least he had the decency to die that way." The harshness left his tone just as quickly as it had come, leaving his words quivering with tears past shed. "I...I didn't want him to die that way, not that way, killed by Remus. He's not a killer, not like that. I wonder...even now...if he really would have gone through with it that night in the Shrieking Shack. He'll hate himself forever for this." Sirius ran his hands over his face. "I'd give up everything to bring Peter back now, bring him back for Remus." 

Harry continued to stare at Lupin's head until his eyes burned. "Why?" Intense anger and guilt rose within him against Pettigrew, against the voiceless words he would be hearing in his sleep for a very, very long time to come. "Why did he do it?" Black looked startled at the vicious, ragged fury in Harry's voice. "I didn't want to _see _that, God damn it!" 

Sirius tentatively rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I don't know. I don't know...I only know his debt to you is repaid." 

"No." Harry was surprised at his own vehemence, at the way his voice shook and rose to a shout. "Not to my mother. Not to my _father!_ If he had to throw away his life why didn't he do it for them?! None of this would have happened then! NONE OF THIS!" 

Lupin started awake with a cry. Black immediately surged to his feet and went to his friend's side, followed closely by Harry. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, "Sorry." Lupin turned over at the sound of his voice, Black's hands hovering about his shoulders, and threw himself backwards against the wall at the sight of Harry. 

"No," said Lupin hoarsely, his eyes wide in anguish. He looked away. "Get out." 

Sirius stared at Lupin helplessly. "Remus, it's Harry, it's all right." Lupin shook his head emphatically. 

Harry's mouth worked as he moved forward to touch his former professor's back. "Professor Lupin--Remus..." 

"GET OUT!" yelled the werewolf hoarsely. "Don't look at me! DON'T LOOK AT ME! Get him out, Sirius, don't let them in, not Rysk either, get him out, get him out...!" 

A strange impulse caught hold of Harry. He reached out and grabbed Lupin's chin gently but firmly, tilting his face so that the older man was forced to look at him. Behind him he heard Black gasp quietly; felt eyes boring into his back. Lupin's eyes were sunken and despairing; he flinched away from Harry's gaze. "Remus, look at me." Harry felt odd: older, somehow, and more worldly. The soft confidence in his voice was surprising, as was the smile that crossed his face when Lupin finally looked up at him--for a fleeting second Harry saw in his mind's eye the same warm yet sage expression that Dumbledore so often wore. "It's all right. It's all right." 

Harry released him and Lupin drew back slowly, letting out a shaking breath. He sat with his legs over the side of the bed, wrapping his arms about his dreadfully thin body, staring at the floor. After a moment he nodded mutely, seeming much calmed. Harry turned to see his godfather staring at him inscrutably. "Are you hungry, Remus?" said Black at length, his eyes lingering on Harry a bit longer. Lupin shook his head. There was a silence before Sirius collapsed heavily back into his chair. Harry sat down on one end of the bed; Lupin winced but did not move away. 

"Was Rysk here?" asked Harry, curious for news of the Defense teacher. 

"Once." Black glanced swiftly at Lupin. "A few days ago. She didn't stay long." 

"How do you know her?" Harry was unable to contain himself any longer. "How does she know you? Both of you?" He looked between the two adults. "How'd she know where to find you--us?" 

Sirius sighed and rubbed at his face. "It's a long story, Harry." 

"We have time." 

At this Lupin's head snapped up and he caught Black's eye. A long look passed between the two of them before Sirius finally nodded and glanced back to Harry. "I can't tell you everything; just what I can." 

"My God, does she pay all of you to keep your mouths shut?" demanded Harry frustratedly, remembering Dumbledore's similar words. 

Lupin muttered something under his breath; Black shot him a barbed look. "No." He shifted, looking disconcerted. He leaned forward onto his knees. "Where do you want me to start?" 

"From the beginning." 

"The beginning. Right." He brought his hands together and tapped them against his lips. "Carmen Rysk came from America. The year after my--our--graduation from Hogwarts, Dumbledore had brought us into the Order. Me, Remus...your father and mother." 

"They were Aurors?" breathed Harry, although somewhere deep inside he was not surprised. 

Sirius nodded. "Two of the finest. We were so young..." He shook his head. "She was even younger. Came to Hogwarts as a transfer student, at least that's how the story went, and began as a sixth year student. She didn't have the red streaks back then," he added with a faint, dry smile. "I remember; I was at the Sorting Ceremony that day. The Sorting Hat took forever with her, and when it finally announced the house, it didn't shout...it sounded sad, if that's possible." 

"Slytherin?" 

"Yes. I took a natural dislike to her after that." Black's voice was rueful. "I met Dumbledore in his office after the feast and when I walked in she was standing there, behind his chair, with Fawkes on her arm and petting him like he was _her_ pet. When he started burning up she put him back on his perch, calm as you please, and dusted the ashes off of herself without even watching the phoenix rise again. Dumbledore introduced us and then told her that I was a member of the Order. She nodded and said she knew." Sirius shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, as if reliving the moment. "That was the first time I saw Dumbledore really surprised--I knew my face was. Dumbledore told me...he said, 'Miss Rysk may work with the Order from time to time, Sirius, an extracurricular activity of sorts. Carmen is quite the duellist, and fighter.'" 

Harry was unaware that he had leaned forward on the bed, straining to catch Black's every word. 

"I suppose I deserved what I got." 

"What?" 

Sirius looked up and pulled a wry face. "I scoffed, and rather rudely at that. 'Her? Work with the Order?' A second later a knife brushed my hair and stuck into the wall behind me. I've only seen Dumbledore look more angry once, and that was last year with Fudge. Rysk ignored his reprimand until she'd summoned the knife back and repaired the wall--without using her wand. The way he was staring at her, I swear...I would have run away. She didn't bat an eye, just stared at me, daring me to say something." Black fell silent, staring straight ahead into his memories. "I suppose you could call that the beginning." 

"Go on," said Harry eagerly. 

Lupin lifted his face from his hands suddenly. "No," he snapped at Sirius, who sighed fitfully. 

"What?" 

Black hesitated. "She worked together with us more and more frequently. Soon she became familiar to the Order, but never really befriended any of us. It was strange, she often slipped out to Hogsmeade and Apparated back to America, according to Dumbledore. Once she went back to spy, but usually she just disappeared over the weekend and never said a word about what she had been doing...she never talked about her past." Here Sirius stopped and bit his lip. A heavy silence fell over the room. A terrible, deep sorrow had come into Black's face, making him look older than ever. "I...I was young, as I said, and I made a great mistake by endangering a touchy mission. I don't believe Dumbledore would have given it to us if the more experienced ones hadn't away on something even more important. I..." Black's voice broke unexpectedly, alarmingly. Harry could see pain in his hollow eyes, not so intense to be bordering on madness as it had been in the Shrieking Shack, but still fresh and dangerous. He was so startled he nearly stood up, but Lupin's quiet voice stilled him. 

"Sirius." 

Harry stared at his old professor. There was something queer in his voice. 

Black shook his head. "I endangered it, and everything went downhill from there. Rysk disappeared after that; never worked with the Order again, except sometimes Dumbledore would pass on information she had gathered from God knows where. I don't know what happened to her...shortly after the incident you were born, Harry, you were born and I was thrown into Azkaban." Sirius's hands were clenched very tightly now. Harry was beginning to feel sorry he had ever pressed his godfather. "I never saw Rysk again, except for now. That was sixteen years ago." 

"She was in America," said Lupin, gazing raptly at the floor. He did not sound as defeated and broken as before, but the bitterness in his words was palpable; Harry winced. "Dumbledore spent a while looking for her, but...I don't know. It was as though she had disappeared from the face of the earth. There was no word from her for several years." 

"How do you know?" asked Sirius, staring hard at his friend. 

"I helped Dumbledore search for a while. How he found her I don't know." 

"She knew you," said Harry quietly. "When we told her you were our teacher last year, she knew you." 

"Yes. She does." 

"She said...well, I heard her say...that she had been out of contact for years." Black shot him a keen but amused look. "She didn't know Sirius was innocent, didn't even know that he had escaped until she found the letter you sent me. I thought she was going to blast Dumbledore or something." 

At this Sirius began to laugh quietly, bringing some color into his face. "She would. She would." 

"Sirius...what happened?" The moment the words left his mouth Harry knew he had asked a bad question. "What happened to make her leave?" 

His godfather shook his head, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. "I can't tell you that, Harry. I can't." 

"But--" 

"Harry, please." Black's voice was slightly ragged, a subtle warning of what might happen if Harry pressed further. The tension in Sirius's shoulders fascinated and alarmed Harry. "It's not for me to tell." 


	24. Changes

Harry changed the subject quickly. For a good hour they talked of other things, old and new. Lupin remained silent, even throughout Sirius's stories of pranks Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs had played in their Hogwarts days. Harry, however, was in stitches on the floor, having fallen from the bed long ago. 

"Then I cursed his voicebox, and..." Black paused for breath, trying not to laugh, "and he was on the floor...with Jelly Legs...squawking like a chicken!" The image of Severus Snape lying on the floor of the duelling arena, wiggling like gelatin and making chicken noises sent Harry into conniptions. "Wait...wait," gasped Sirius, doubled over in his chair. "Guess who walked in." 

"Who?" It came out of Harry as a wheeze; he could not manage anything more. 

"McGonagall! 'Mr. Snape...' " He broke off for a moment, struggling to control himself. " 'Mr. Snape, what is the meaning of this?!' And he started...he started...pointing at us...bulging eyes...going 'bawk, bawk, bawk...!' " Black trailed off, unable to speak any longer, clutching at his stomach in silent laughter. After a while Harry managed to recover enough to talk. 

"Did you...did you get away?" He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. 

Sirius nodded. "We nearly tripped over ourselves under the invisibility cloak, trying to run, but we made it." Black chuckled. "I'm sure McGonagall knew, of course, but she couldn't prove it. Snape got detention for a week for being out of his room. He was glaring daggers at us for months." 

"You didn't get in any trouble at all?" 

"No." Black grinned. "That's usually how it went, when Snape was involved." 

"Rather unfair, wasn't it?" Lupin said suddenly. 

Black stared at him. "Oh, come on, Remus. It was Snape." His lip curled slightly. 

Harry felt an abrupt chill run down his spine. _"Please. It's Malfoy."_

"He took all the blame and then some. The teachers favored us for sure. It wasn't fair, Sirius." 

"Are you repenting for little school pranks _now_?" said Sirius incredulously, but something in his eyes flickered. Harry saw some of the sparkle and cheer leave his godfather's expression. 

"Maybe they weren't so little," retorted Lupin. 

Harry decided not to share Malfoy's exploits as a ferret. It didn't seem to matter so much anymore, belittling his rival. Not so for Sirius, if the strange look lurking in his gaze was anything to go by. Harry had only a moment to wonder how deep those 'schoolboy grudges' of old ran before the door of the room opened and Dumbledore stepped in. 

"It's time, Sirius," he said gently, glancing quickly and Lupin. The werewolf stiffened and looked away, any remaining color draining from his face. His knuckled turned white as he gripped the bedsheets. 

"You have to go?" cried Harry in dismay, springing to his feet. 

"Yes, and now. We can't delay." Black crossed the room and pulled Harry into a short but tight embrace, one that couldn't have expressed more fatherly concern and love. "Take care of yourself, Harry, and tell Ron and Hermione goodbye for me." His godfather held him back at arm's length. "God, you've grown." 

Something in the way Sirius said this made it clear he was not referring to Harry's height alone. Sensing that the quiver in his voice betrayed him, Black turned away abruptly and helped Lupin (who was fully robed) up from the bed. "Come on." 

The werewolf slowly stood and followed Sirius out, his eyes downcast and body tense, as if expecting to be dealt a blow at any moment. The absence of the quiet assurance and easy-going nature that Harry had come to admire so much in his former teacher was too much to bear. Harry grabbed Lupin's shoulder as he passed. "Remus." 

The older man stiffened. "Goodbye, Harry," he murmured. 

"Oh, for God's sake!" Harry threw his arms about Lupin and embraced him closely. For a moment Remus resisted before clinging on to Harry as if for dear life, his relief at being accepted by one more person almost palpable. Harry clapped a hand between Lupin's painfully thin shoulders before stepping away. Lupin's eyes were suspiciously bright as he stared at Harry for a while before turning and walking to Sirius, who stood waiting at the door. 

Then they were gone. Only Dumbledore lingered at the threshold. "Ready for classes tomorrow, Harry?" 

"Yes, sir," he muttered, turning around to smooth the rumpled bed for lack of something else to do, then just as suddenly turned back. "Where are they? Where are they going to be?" 

Dumbledore's wise eyes regarded him in a strange mixture of amusement, deep pride and, for a moment, sorrow. "Safe, Harry. Safe." 

"For now." 

The Headmaster sighed. "Alas, yes. Only for now." 

_Forgive me._ The words, inaudible when they had been spoken but crystal clear in Harry's mind, echoed in his ears. _Forgive me. _His eyes closed, but Cedric Diggory's crumpled body burned into the back of his eyelids, then his father and mother, then the red snow, a flash of green light... 

Harry's jaw suddenly tightened as he lifted his chin and looked at Dumbledore. "Headmaster, what time is it?" 

"Five minutes before lunch, Harry, if I'm not mistaken," replied Dumbledore mildly, but his merry eyes were studying him hard. 

"Didn't our schedules get changed? I have Potions after lunch now." A knowing look flickered over the Headmaster's face as he nodded. "Sir, I want to go back to classes today. All the homework I have is done...the stuff that's due tomorrow, anyway. I want to go back today." 

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure you feel up to it, Harry?" 

Under the old wizard's piercing blue gaze Harry felt himself falter a bit. "Well...well...we have to get on with our lives, don't we? Sir. We have to carry on..." 

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment. "Very well. I will have a word with Madam Pomfrey." He smiled faintly. "You do look fit enough to work mischief in this school again." 

"Thank you, sir," said Harry with a grin. 

The Headmaster turned to go, but stopped and glanced back. He spoke strangely, heavily, and it sent a chill up Harry's spine. "Sirius was right, Harry--you _have_ grown." 

He was left staring at where Dumbledore had been. Yes, he had grown; he had _changed._ He only wondered which of them knew it better. 

**** 

"Harry!" exclaimed Ron as he walked into the dungeon. Hermione shot to her feet, nearly upsetting her chair. 

"What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow...however did you talk Madam Pomfrey into--" 

"Dumbledore," muttered Harry, hiding a wide smile as he set his books next to his two friends. He was aware of a crowd of Gryffindors forming around him, many greeting him and others beginning to ask questions (Neville was one of these, surprisingly). 

"Sit. Down." 

The entire room fell silent as students scurried back to their seats, neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin eager to attract the wrath of Professor Snape, especially today. Harry could see why: the Potions master's face with pale, drawn, exhausted, and terribly, terribly dangerous. He stood behind his desk, not glaring as usual, simply staring with his cold, black eyes. More than one unfortunate in the front row slunk down in his or her seat. Snape slowly looked over to Harry, who met his gaze squarely, although it was not easy, for the loathing that had always been in Snape's eyes had been rekindled tenfold. "If Mr. Potter will not be signing any parchments, we will begin class," he said softly, malice and contempt curling through his voice. 

"By all means, Professor," Harry heard himself say, just as quietly. His eyes widened and he fought the urge to clap a hand over his mouth as several muffled gasps sounded out. 

Snape's eyes flashed fire. "Detention, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor." He whirled to face the Slytherin side, his robes swirling. "Get out your review packets." 

They spent the class partnered and going over their reviews. Snape was surprisingly (or perhaps not so) remote from their activities. He lashed out once more at Harry by pairing him with Malfoy, then sat at his desk and watched them all sharply. The class had murmured a bit, finding it strange that Snape had not prepared a potion for them to sweat over today. No one complained, though, relishing the chance to bow their heads together over their parchments and whisper while pretending to work. However, Draco Malfoy kept his head as far from Harry's as possible. "Just work on yours, Potter," he drawled coldly, sitting down and turning away from him. 

Harry picked up his quill but found himself studying Malfoy, who wore all black in mourning of his father. His rival seemed subdued somehow, sullen. With a glance at Snape he quickly scrawled a few answers down on his review, but continued to sneak glances at Malfoy. A strange pity was stirring in Harry, pity he would not have felt before that night in the Alps. He knew what it was like to lose a father, but he had never known James Potter, not as Malfoy might have known Lucius. 

_He was a Death Eater_, thought Harry to himself viciously, writing with a bit more force than necessary. _And he's the son of a Death Eater. _Malfoy struck the desk half-heartedly as he continued to stare at a question that remained blank. Harry stared the other's forearm, unblemished by the Dark Mark, as Rysk's had been. Harry blinked as his teachers words in Hogsmeade, which felt so long ago, came back: _What does that prove?_

"Nothing," he whispered under his breath. Malfoy turned to him sharply. 

"What'd you say, Potter?" 

Harry leaned slightly to glance at Malfoy's parchment. "What did you get for number thirty-seven?" 

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he quickly moved his arm to cover the blank space he had been pondering over for the last ten minutes. "Don't go trying to copy my answers, Potter," he sneered. "Go ask Weasel and his girlfriend." 

"I think," said Harry gently "that it's dragon's blood and gillyweed." Malfoy's head snapped up; he stared at Harry uncertainly for a moment before his disdainful, cold expression slipped back into place. He glanced at number thirty-seven, then to Harry suspiciously, before writing 'gillyweed and dragon's blood' grudgingly and moving on to the next one. "Malfoy. I'm sorry about your father." The blonde boy froze and stiffened. "I really am." 

Malfoy made no reply; no sneer nor sarcastic remark. It would not have mattered to Harry, though, if he had: things as trivial as children's bickering had to be left behind. Harry looked at Snape, marking a student's parchment on his desk. _But I have to stop it before it becomes more than that. Before, well...before one of us tries to kill the other._

Harry and Malfoy worked in silence until the bell rang. Ron and Hermione walked over and waited as Harry gathered his things. "Bloody git," muttered Ron under his breath after Malfoy as they walked out together. "He didn't give you a hard time, did he?" 

"No," said Harry mildly. "Other way around, actually." Hermione laughed under her breath. Harry saw the large burden of books in her arms and instantly remembered. "Wait!" He grabbed Ron's arm by the door to Snape's dungeon and spoke quietly as the other students passed them noisily. "I need your help. Hermione, do you know what Soulsbane is?" 

"Of course," said Hermione. "It's a kind of drug. Extremely difficult to make, you know, but it's so powerful that--" 

"What's it made of?" 

"I don't know _that_, Harry. It's illegal; only a few even know its major ingredients." 

"Harry, what in bloody hell are you getting at?" demanded Ron. 

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "Listen, I need to know what's in Soulsbane. Do you think you could find it in the library?" 

"In the Restricted Section, maybe," replied Ron with a grin. 

Hermione shifted her books as her eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?" 

"It has something to do with Rysk," said Harry, trying to stick as close to the truth as possible, and indirectly it _did_ have something to do with strange witch: if he could figure out what Soulsbane did and why Snape was taking it, he might also find out why Rysk was snooping in the dungeons in the first place. He leaned forward with an air of conspiracy. "I asked Sirius, and he told me a bit more about her, but not much. Look, I'm going to be late; I'll tell you more later. Hermione, you have a free period, don't you?" She nodded. "Good. Take my cloak and research Soulsbane. Can you do that?" 

"Nah, she's too _Prefect_," teased Ron. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. 

"I'll try." 

"Thanks." Harry smiled. Hermione turned and walked off, blowing a kiss at Ron over her shoulder. Harry smirked as Ron blushed and started in the opposite direction. 

"Come on, Harry, we'll be late...what do we have next? Flying, isn't it? Damn these half-year courses and their schedule changes...Harry?" Ron started and spun about, having walked a few meters before realizing Harry wasn't beside him. 

"Go on," he said, waving to his friend before pulling the dungeon door open and slipping back into Snape's classroom, not even waiting for an answer. 

Professor Snape glanced up sharply at Harry's entrance. "What are you doing here, Potter?" he snapped, standing a bit too quickly: he swayed on his feet and clutched at the desk's edge for a moment. 

"Are you all right, sir?" said Harry, genuinely startled. 

"What are you doing here?" snarled Snape again when he had recovered. 

Harry leaned back against the door, setting his books on a nearby desk. "Do you know what happened?" 

Snape stared at him. "If you're referring to your little fiasco in the Alps, Potter, yes, I know. I know everything. If you've come back to simply ask me simple-minded, pointless questions--" 

"You're not taking it anymore, are you?" 

The Potions master fell silent. His dark eyes burned dangerously. "What, Potter?" 

"The Soulsbane. You're not still taking it, are you?" 

Snape advanced on him, breathing hard. "HOW DARE YOU COME INTO THIS ROOM AND MEDDLE IN MY AFFAIRS! I WILL NOT TOLERATE SUCH CHEEK! Twenty points from Gryffindor! Thirty! _Fifty!_" 

Harry crossed his arms and waited until the older man was done. "I'm only worried about you, Professor." 

Snape barked out a laugh, cold and mirthless. "Worried about me. _You _are worried about _me?!_ Of course! Why didn't I think of it before? Harry Potter's pity, what a gift!" His voice suddenly softened and sharpened to a hiss. "Go on, get out; get out and tell all your House about it. Get out!" 

Harry desperately hoped that Snape couldn't see his legs shaking. "No, Professor. I haven't told anyone. And I won't." The Potions master stared at Harry inscrutably. "I'm worried about you, sir, and I meant it." He felt a wry smile pull at his lips. "It's not worth taking it." 

"Don't talk about what you don't understand, fool boy," hissed Snape. He turned away. "No, Potter, I'm not taking it anymore. The Headmaster has seen to that." 

"Good," said Harry quietly. He hesitated. "You know, Professor, I don't hate you." Snape whirled around. Harry gathered his books and walked out of the room without another word. A cacophony of noise greeted him as he stepped out into the dungeon halls, all of the bells and squawks and various other sounds used by teachers to mark students tardy exploding throughout the school. He was late, but Harry took his time walking out to the Quidditch field. Hooch did favor him, after all. 


	25. Crucial Ingredients

_*pokes everyone because she can* ;) Many thanks to Katarina for pointing out that repetitive phrase. I've fixed it. *g* Oh, by the way, Rachel Hunt sketched Rysk. Copy/paste: http://www.dreamwater.org/jade/Rysk1.jpg_

_Thank you thank you thank you! *worships all the wonderful artists* Fun black and white style. Hey, Katarina's the only one who's done color; just noticed that. *gives kudos cookies to everyone because she's happy* Sorry...the author is on a total adrenalin high from karate drills. (Sad, isn't it? You should see me after real combat.) Sooo...on with the show!_

_P.S. Ha, just kidding...in all seriousness, if Harry's confrontation of Snape seemed a little sudden, don't worry...there's a reason. (Kudos to Seal for pointing it out, though.) Okay, seriously...end of very long author's note._   
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"Bloody hell," groaned Ron, falling into a chair of the Gryffindor table. Harry stopped and stared at him, letting the rest of his Quidditch class swirl past him. 

"Dinner isn't for another few hours, Ron." He tugged his friend's arm impatiently. "Come on, we have to go see Hermione." 

"Shut up, you." Ron made a half-hearted swipe at Harry. "Hooch wouldn't have made us do those extra drills if you hadn't been late." 

Harry winced but pulled again on Ron's arm, this time more insistently. "Come _on,_ this is important." 

"Isn't everything," he muttered, staggering to his feet. "Ohh, my poor legs." 

Harry snorted. "'My poor legs'? Ron, you've never seen Angelina at Quidditch practice." 

"No, and I don't care to." 

"Hurry up, Hermione has a class after this." 

"I know." Ron swore as he stumbled around a short first-year, nearly knocking the poor boy off the stairs. "Who knew she would take that damned Advanced Arithmacy?" Harry forced a laugh. He was troubled: something about his confrontation with Snape made him uneasy. Something other than the obvious, of course. He ran up the last few steps as he felt the staircase begin to move. With a groan Ron followed suit, grimacing as he stepped heavily onto the third floor. "Oy, wait up, will you?" he called after Harry, who had sped up considerably. 

They arrived at the library with about two minutes to spare before next class. Hermione was waiting impatiently at the door, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the librarian. "Where have you two been?" she demanded in a soft but forceful voice, hands on her hips. "I'm going to be late!" 

"Hermione, did you--" 

"On that table over there," she replied, waving vaguely into the library. "I've got to go; see you at lunch!" She rushed off with only a quick kiss for Ron, who blushed fiercely. Harry raised his eyebrows after her. 

"Not shy about this whole boyfriend business, is she?" Ron glared, and Harry quickly moved out of arm's reach. "Come on...which table did she say?" He was painfully aware of the librarian's sharp eyes on them. 

Hermione had left several innocent-looking books on a table in a far corner half-hidden by bookshelves. One particularly thick tome lay open. "_Banes of the Dragons,_" said Ron, reading over the titles. "_Medicinal Potions--A Guide to Elixirs, Syrups, and Healing Waters. _Hello, what's that?" 

It actually took a bit of effort for Harry to lift one side of the huge book Hermione had left open. He bent over to read the title. "_Potions: A Complete Collection._" 

"No, this." Ron reached past Harry and pulled out a slip of paper sandwiched between two pages. "Page six-hundred forty," murmured Ron, "Tell me if we need more research, Hermione." He looked up with a grin. "_'More research'_. She didn't even leave it open to six-forty; clever, clever." 

Harry was already flipping to the right page. "Here." He ran his finger down the list. "Songslight...Sore Elixir...Sotyn's Brew...here!" He dropped his voice. "Soulsbane." Harry hesitated: the book read very much like a dictionary, only without the definitions. "Eh, Ron? I think this book's enchanted." 

"Well, try _something._" Ron flipped Hermione's note over, looking for further instructions. Harry shrugged and tapped the word 'Soulsbane' with his wand. Instantly all the other text vanished, replaced by a picture of a vial containing a deep lavender potion, accompanied by a dry description of its properties. 

_"The drug Soulsbane has been outlawed throughout the wizarding world, after usage of it resulted in widespread death by overdose and many more cases of severe withdrawal. Similar to Muggle drugs, its effects include a brief period of numbness to the world and to oneself. It was popular with those of guilty conscience..."_

"Harry, you want to tell me what's going on?" Ron's hand landed firmly over the passage Harry was reading. He looked up, startled. 

"Just some research, is all." 

Ron raised an eyebrow. "You can't fool me, Harry, you're up to something. What is it?" 

Harry shook his head. "It's nothing; just studying for the O.W.L.s." 

"All right, keep your secrets!" huffed Ron angrily, turning on his heel and stalking off. Harry swore under his breath. 

"Ron, wait...!" 

"Forget it, Harry." 

Harry caught up and grabbed his friend's arm. Ron glared at him. He glanced about helplessly. "Look, I need your help." Ron crossed his arms and stared at him. With a sigh Harry told him everything: about Soulsbane, about his plan, about Rysk, and about Snape. Pangs of guilt he never thought he'd feel over the greasy-haired Potions master assaulted him. 

**** 

Hermione, Ron, and Harry were gathered in a corner the prefects' bathroom, sitting on the hard floor. Ron's face was still nearly the color of his hair; he continued to glance uneasily at the huge bath and back at Hermione. His girlfriend, however, was all business. Harry tried not to laugh: he could remember a time when Hermione would have fainted at the thought of bringing anyone but a prefect into this room, let alone two boys. It had been her idea, really: she had insisted that the Gryffindor common room was no place to talk of such things. 

"Are these all the ingredients you could find?" asked Hermione, chewing thoughtfully on her quill as she scanned the parchment of notes Harry and Ron had made. Harry nodded. 

"Those are the only two known ones. The recipe is outlawed...only a few know how to make it." 

"Like Snape," commented Ron sourly, shifting against the tiled wall. 

"Mmm." Hermione tapped the parchment. "Extract of poppy seed." She looked up. "Opium." 

"Yes." 

"What's any of this got to do with Rysk snooping in Snape's room?" demanded Ron loudly. "You think she knew the old git was taking it?" 

Harry shook his head. "I told you already: she was looking for something, I'm sure of it." 

"So what makes you think it was an ingredient of Soulsbane?" said Hermione. 

"I...I don't know." Harry shrugged. "It's a hunch." 

"Oh, God, how bloody reassuring." Ron was staring fixedly away from the bath now. "I say we just let the bastard drug himself to death." 

"He's not taking it anymore." 

Hermione looked up sharply, and Harry knew he had made a mistake. "How do you know?" 

It was Harry turn to shift uncomfortably, feeling the grid of the tiles grab at his bottom. "I asked him," he said quietly. 

There was a moment of silence. "You did _what?_" burst out Ron. "Are you mad? Did you _want_ detention for the rest of the year?" 

"If he's not taking it anymore, and if Rysk's still snooping around, then we'll know it wasn't the Soulsbane; if she still is, then it's something else, get it?" snapped Harry, more sharply than he'd intended. Ron drew back, stung. 

"So we're spying on Rysk, now, too? You're crazy, Harry. She'll take our heads off. I'd rather face Snape," he declared. 

"Look, she worked with the Order, my parents were in the Order, and I'm going to find out what the hell is going on! Are you helping me or not?!" Harry stopped, suddenly short of breath, surprised at his own vehemence. 

"It might not have been the Soulsbane at all," said Hermione softly. She was staring intently at the notes, seeming to have completely ignored their heated words. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Look here. Extract of poppy seed and lotus root." Hermione's voice became excited. "Lotus root! That's used in every single memory potion there is." 

"Memory potions?" Harry scrambled to look over Hermione's shoulder. Ron quickly followed suit. 

"Yes." Hermione tapped her finger repeatedly against Harry's untidy scrawl, as though she could conjure up the answer if she did it long and hard enough. "Memory potions. Memory enhancers, counter-memory blocks, things like that. Oh, my goodness..." 

"...that's it!" Harry and Hermione spoke within milliseconds of each other. Ron's face was blank. 

"What?" 

"His headaches!" exclaimed Harry. "The way he stares at her! Is that what happens, when you've got a memory block?" 

"I...I...maybe, it could be..." The familiar glint was coming into Hermione's eyes. It was suddenly replaced by an apprehension bordering on fear. "I think," she said finally, "someone used Obliviate on Professor Snape." 

**** 

Snape arranged for Harry to have detention with Filch the next day. Several weeks passed without further incident, although they monitored Rysk and Snape closely. Perhaps not as closely as they would have liked, for the O.W.L. exams were fast approaching, and Hermione was driven into a studying frenzy. Even Ron began to spend his free time reviewing notes and past exams. Fifth-year classes were dominated by review material as the dreaded date drew closer. The events of Christmas break and the night in the Alps faded quickly from Harry's mind, brought to the surface only by disturbed sleep punctuated by nightmares. The terror of what had happened in those mountains seemed a dream, something that had never really happened. Lost in preparing for the O.W.L.s, he even forgot about Percy Weasley. In fact, the only things that seemed to keep the memory of his encounter with the Order of the Phoenix alive were Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

Harry found it extremely disconcerting, being taught by Professor 'Harrison'. She did not pay any more attention to him than she usually did. If anything, she seemed to have become even more cold and sarcastic. However, Snape was another matter: his tongue sharpened to an unbelievable degree, and many a student suffered a verbal lashing (even Malfoy), but at the same time it was obvious to Harry, Ron, and Hermione that the Potions master was shaken. Furthermore, he pointedly avoided Harry's eye, even sacrificing the pleasure of picking on The Boy Who Lived at every turn. 

But barring all else, life at Hogwarts seemed to return to normal, disturbed only by a tense undercurrent that Harry tried to ignore, even when he knew that it was only a matter of time before things exploded. 

"Hey, Harry?" Rosie Hether's hand landed on his shoulder one Saturday evening after dinner. He started and looked up from his Transfiguration notes. 

"Hi, Rosie." 

Rosie smiled her usual warm smile, but her voice was hushed and a touch grim. "The Headmaster wants to see you," she said, "McGonagall's waiting outside." 

Harry blinked stupidly. "Right now?" 

"Right now." 

A feeling of unease pricked Harry's skin. He glanced around for Ron or Hermione but could find neither in the common room. Slowly he stood and began walking toward the exit, feeling Rosie's concerned stare on his back. Sure enough, McGonagall was standing by the Fat Lady when he emerged. "Come with me, Potter," she said briskly the moment he stuck his head out. No greeting, no explanation. _I should be used to it by now,_ thought Harry dryly. He trailed behind her to Dumbledore's office, although he hardly needed her guidance. He was so nervous about what they might find on the other side of the door that he didn't even remember to laugh at the password ("Buttered toast!"). McGonagall stepped off of the spiralling stairs and swept right in without knocking. 

The Headmaster sat behind his desk, as usual. A wizard in Ministry robes was beside him. Standing in the middle of the room was Percy Weasley, hands stuffed into his pockets and shoulders hunched. He started when he saw Harry and quickly looked away, his cheeks flaming red. Even more startling, though, was Ron sitting in a chair to one side. He was staring at his older brother, and his face could not have been more white. He spared Harry only a brief glance. 

"Ah, Harry. Thank you, Minerva. Have a seat," said the Headmaster as the door swung shut. McGonagall remained standing, but Harry sat down beside Ron, glancing at the Ministry wizard, who looked strangely familiar. "Harry, this is Mr. Henry from the Ministry." _Oh. He was with Ranone that day..._ Henry nodded curtly, his narrow face strained. 

"Sir, what's going on, please?" asked Harry quietly. 

Percy fidgeted, flinching away from Ron's steady gaze. Dumbledore came around the desk to put a hand on Percy's shoulder. "I'm afraid," he said gently, "that young Mr. Weasley will have to stand trial for his involvement in your kidnapping from this school." 

Harry felt Ron stiffen beside him. Henry was watching him intently. His breath caught. "You want me to testify." A sick feeling clenched his stomach. "You want me to testify against him." 

Henry spoke up. His voice was as dry and uninteresting as his face. "Mr. Weasley faces the charges of unlawful entry, kidnapping, and the most serious one of aiding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I'm told you saw your attackers before you were stunned." 

Harry swallowed. "I did." He looked up sharply. "And I'll testify _for_ Percy. He tried to stop Ranone." He glanced sidelong at Ron, wondering what his friend was doing here. Percy was silent, making no movement other than to adjust his glasses nervously. 

"The trial will take place sometime this summer." Henry produced an official-looking parchment and quill from within his robes. "Your signature is required." 

Dumbledore passed the document to Harry. He skimmed over it, not quite comprehending the words on the parchment. Confirmation that he was not being intimidated into testifying, something to that effect. From the corner of his eye he saw Henry watching him sourly. Suddenly he looked up. "What's Ron doing here?" he demanded. 

There was a silence. "They want me to testify, too," said Ron through clenched teeth, never taking his eyes off of his brother. "But I...didn't...see...anything...good." 

In a flash Harry understood. Henry was in Fudge's faction of the Ministry, and Percy's conviction would discredit, maybe even divide, the Weasley family. Ron's dilemma was clear: he wanted to punish his brother for all the pain he had caused, for what he had done, and yet to testify against him would only worsen matters. And with the Ministry split as it was, the jury for Percy's trial would be anything but impartial. Harry looked at Percy: the young man's freckles stood out starkly against a face pale with shame and fear, but his back was straight. 

"Don't," hissed Harry. Ron shook his head, his face pale as well, but with rage. He looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn't. With an open glare at Henry, Harry signed his name. The Ministry wizard's eye twitched. 

"Well, Mr. Weasley?" he said. For the first time Harry noticed that a parchment identical to his own was lying in Ron's lap. His friend picked the document up slowly. Percy suddenly met his brother's gaze at the rustling sound. For a moment they stared at each other, then Ron viciously tore the parchment to pieces. "Find someone else to threaten!" he screamed at Henry, then ran out of the office. 

Harry had shot to his feet. He looked about the room helplessly, confused. As soon as the door slammed McGonagall was upon Henry, her eyes spitting venom. "Get out," she hissed in a voice that would have frightened a small child. Henry stepped back involuntarily. "Get _out!_" 

Still standing in the middle of the room, Percy began to shake. 

"Minerva!" snapped Dumbledore with rare sharpness. The Headmistress continued to stare at Henry with murder in her gaze. With a strange, hollow air of satisfaction Henry brushed past the witch and grasped Percy's arm. The older Weasley boy drew away. His lips were pale, now, too. 

"Headmaster," said Henry with coldly before leading Percy towards Dumbledore's shelf of instruments. He took the document from Harry as he passed. Once again taking hold of Percy's arm, Henry reached out to touch a thin, forked rod. Harry realized suddenly that he must be using a Portkey. 

"Wait!" he cried, "Where are you taking him?" 

Henry did not turn around, but Harry could hear the thin smugness in his voice. "He's to be held in Azkaban until the trial." 

"What? No!" 

But they were already gone. 

"Azkaban?" cried Harry, turning to McGonagall, then Dumbledore. "They can't put him in Azkaban! Not with the dementors! Why didn't you stop him?!" 

"We can't, Harry," said Dumbledore heavily, sitting wearily down in his chair. "By law, they're allowed to do that. Percy faces charges of aiding Voldemort," McGonagall flinched, "and thus the Ministry is entitled to putting him under maximum security." 

Harry's own face had gone white. "He didn't know what he was doing! He didn't meant anything wrong--they can't, they can't put him with the dementors!" 

McGonagall looked mad enough to spit fire. Dumbledore only shook his head slowly. "At least you'll testify, Harry, and without Ron, Fudge's faction of the Ministry loses perhaps the only witness that will ensure a ruling in their favor." 

"They threatened him. They _threatened_ Ron! That bast--" 

"Potter!" 

Harry clenched his fists in anger. "It was either testify or put his brother in Azkaban for months, wasn't it? Why didn't you _do _something?!" 

"We can't, Harry." Dumbledore's voice was gentle but strained. His eyes glinted. "Not yet." Behind the Headmaster, Fawkes burst into flames and burned to ashes. After a moment Dumbledore stood. "Professor McGonagall, shall we check on Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. She swept out the door without a word. The Headmaster lingered in the doorway to look back at Harry. "Harry, I hope you won't mind waiting here a while longer--I'd like to have a word." Harry nodded mutely. 

And he was left alone in the room. Harry's gaze wandered to the cabinet that stood in one corner of the room. He hesitated, glancing nervously over his shoulder, then quickly ran to the wooden doors before he could change his mind. When he opened them, though, several empty vials clattered to the floor. Harry swore and froze, but no footsteps sounded from outside the office. Letting out a breath, he quickly scanned the shelves until he found what he was looking for. 

Desperately hoping that he could pull himself back to reality, Harry leaned over and gazed once again into Albus Dumbledore's pensieve. 


	26. Dumbledore's Protégée

_Rachel: Ahhh! I updated, I updated! Lemme see it, lemme see it! *sounds like a grabby little two-year-old*_

_Uh...heh heh. ;)_

_Welllll...I had fun writing this one. Thanks to Celia for giving it the beta run-through. *g* Ooo, look, the title's _special..._it has cool accent aigus...*nods sagely*_   
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He wasn't sure what good would come from prying into his Headmaster's private thoughts. There was no telling what he would see; Harry did not know how to manipulate the Pensieve. Last year, when he had first fallen into Dumbledore's memories, he had not been able to control what he saw nor had he been able to pull himself away from the events in the bowl. Taking a shuddering breath, Harry pulled out his wand and tentatively touched the swirling, silver-white substance that glinted within the basin. The milky mist became as clear as glass, and suddenly reflected in it was a comfortably furnished office: there was Paul Ranone and Cornelius Fudge sitting behind his desk; Dumbledore was standing before the Minister in quite a relaxed manner. Harry heard the Headmaster speak, his voice echoing queerly: "The affairs of Hogwarts are solely my own, Cornelius, so long as no law is violated. I do hope you are not accusing me of any such thing..." 

Harry hesitated and glanced up one more time to make sure the office really was empty. The portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses were snoozing away in their frames; the patched and ragged Sorting Hat was silent. Only Fawkes moved, watching Harry with bright eyes. _It's not right, _thought Harry, but a sudden impulsive anger pushed reason out: _And putting Percy in Azkaban was?_ With a sudden jerk he touched his nose to the cold stuff before he could lose his nerve. As Dumbledore's office lurched nauseatingly, he whispered in desperation, "Carmen Rysk." 

Harry felt himself being pulled irresistibly into the Pensieve as the scene shifted before his eyes. He found himself on his back, staring up at a grey sky. Hard-driving rain pelted his face, but his glasses were untouched, allowing him to see clearly. Shaking his head, Harry got to his feet and looked about. He was in a slum greyer than the sky above, devoid of color and of life. Shabby, run-down apartments leaned towards each other, forming narrow, dark alleys. It was a depressing and eerie place. 

Harry started when he saw a man wrapped in a long, dark cloak. A flash of silver beard peeped out from the deep folds. "Dumbledore?" Harry blurted out before realizing that this was an Albus Dumbledore from another time. He ran up next to the old wizard and peered into the hood. Yes, that was indeed the Headmaster, spectacles and all. He had a grim look on his face as he continued to walk, looking straight through Harry. "Where are you going?" asked Harry out loud, even though he knew he wouldn't get an answer. A peal of thunder rent the air. Harry flinched and looked about again, falling into step beside Dumbledore. 

Immediately after the thunder came a scream that was cut off with sickening abruptness, followed by a gunshot. Dumbledore whirled around, as did Harry. Further commotion came from the ominous space between two ramshackle buildings. Dumbledore quickly made for the raised voices, his hand fishing into his robes for his wand. Harry followed him. To Harry's amazement, the Headmaster entered the alleyway without hesitation. Reminding himself that all of this was a memory, and that if it was in Dumbledore's Pensieve everything must have turned out all right, Harry slipped into the alley, feeling sweat break out on his brow, mingling with the rain. 

It was nearly pitch-black, but Harry's eyes soon adjusted to the dark. Wiping a piece of hair from his forehead Harry saw several shapes struggling deeper in the alley. One figure was lying still by the wall, blood pooling about it. A flash of lightening illuminated the scene briefly: a girl in ragged clothes fighting her way desperately through four full-grown men, screaming at the young man dying on the ground. "WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Even as she managed to knock one of the men unconscious, another pinned her against the wall by the throat. 

"STOP!" 

And everything did stop. Harry's breath caught as he looked back at Dumbledore. The Headmaster had thrown his hood back to reveal a face made terrible by anger, blue eyes blazing. A very real light surrounded his form as the old wizard seemed to grow, filling the alleyway, radiating an impossible power. His voice had been as loud as the thunder. 

The girl was the only one not frozen for more than a second. She seized the opportunity and kicked the man holding her away, then ran straight at Harry. With a gasp he stumbled back before realizing that she could not see him, that she was reaching for a knife that had lay glinting at his feet. When the girl looked up her gaze met Harry's for a brief moment. He almost fell over: her eyes were grey, and by the otherworldly light that came from Dumbledore he could see that her hair, soaked through, was silver-blonde, tied back at the base of her neck. 

Rysk. 

The last thing Harry heard was a wordless, horrible cry, and the last thing he saw was a flash of green light spring forth from the girl's hand. 

The world spun before his eyes until it ground to a stop, this time beneath a flawless blue sky. Harry stood among many witches and wizards, gathered about two closed coffins, each lying beside an open grave. Beside him stood Dumbledore, his blue eyes subdued and his aged face shrouded in sorrow. He wore black robes in place of his usual blue. Scanning the crowd, Harry saw Professor McGonagall, a younger Cornelius Fudge, Arthur Weasley...all dressed as befitted mourners. Harry looked back up at Dumbledore. "What happened?" he whispered. 

Harry's eyes were drawn suddenly to one side of the circle. His jaw dropped. There, with his arms tied behind his back and guarded by several burly wizards, was Severus Snape. He could not have been a day over eighteen. His beetle-black eyes were focused on the coffins, his face inscrutable, yet Harry could see that young Snape was shaking. As two wizards and two witches stepped forward to levitate the dead to their final resting places, Snape suddenly burst out. "_No!_" he shrieked, "NO!" He tried to run to the graves; his guards caught his arms and he fell to his knees. "I didn't mean to!" he screamed, raising his face to the cruelly beautiful day, "It wasn't me! IT WASN'T ME!" Through his long black hair Harry saw a horrible expression of anguish twisting Snape's face. The coffins floated into their graves. "NO!" Dirt and grass covered the holes in mere seconds. "NO!" Snape's hoarse voice broke on a wrenching sob. "Forgive me! Forgive--" 

Young Snape fell over as one of his guards stunned him. The crowd began to disperse, murmuring, whispering. Harry stood frozen, staring at Snape's limp body on the ground, at the tears that streaked his pale face. A painful pity stirred within him, and it almost hurt to look away from his professor and run after Dumbledore. Another black figure had fallen into step beside the Headmaster, cloaked and hooded. 

"You should not have come," murmured Dumbledore, almost too quietly for Harry to hear. A young woman's voice answered from within the hood, so cold that it was unnerving to hear. It was also unmistakable: this was Rysk, several years older. 

"He was placed under the Imperius Curse by Voldemort and forced to kill them." 

When Dumbledore replied his voice was heavy with impossible grief; its impact on Harry was equal to that of Snape's screams. "Understood, Carmen." 

An impulse made Harry turn around to look at Snape again. The young man was being borne away in the opposite direction. His heart twisted again in curious sympathy. "Have you talked to him?" murmured Rysk. 

Dumbledore's breath was unnecessarily deep. "I have." 

"And?" 

"He will not be convicted..." 

Everything became a sickening blur once again. Harry gulped air as someone pulled him roughly away from the Pensieve. He looked up into the emotionless face of Professor 'Harrison'. Harry stumbled away, genuinely frightened, before realizing that his face was wet with tears. Rysk opened her mouth, but her sharp grey eyes jerked to the door of the office as voices sounded on the other side of it. With a quick wave of her hand the Pensieve and the glass vials flew back into their proper places and the doors of the cabinet swung shut. 

"Professor!" said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows as he entered the office, followed by McGonagall. "A bit early to come out of hiding, don't you think?" 

Hiding? What? Harry looked about wildly. Where had she come from? 

"Potter here got a bit upset," replied the witch coolly, neatly explaining away his tears. Harry stared up at her, confused. Wasn't she going to tell? Wasn't she going to say something? "Figured I should come out before someone got hurt." 

McGonagall looked sharply at Harry with concern. "Potter?" 

Harry shook his head, trying to buy time and lie convincingly. "I'm fine, Professor. It was just...it was just Percy. They can't--" 

"It'll be all right, Harry," said Dumbledore, but he gave Rysk a hard, searching look before sitting down. "Well," he went on calmly, "no help for it--cat's out of the bag." 

Harry found himself drawing closer to McGonagall, preferring the Transfigurations professor to 'Harrison's' veiled but piercing scrutiny. "What cat?" he asked quietly. 

Dumbledore smiled with patient amusement. "I'd have thought you'd figured it out already, Harry. Mr. Henry was quite put out when you caught on." 

"You mean that Fudge wants Ron's family..." 

"Discredited, destroyed," supplied Rysk almost lazily, leaning back against the wall in a feline manner. Harry found himself staring at his strange teacher, his mind frantically working to piece together the fragments he had seen in the Pensieve. 

"We can only do so much," said McGonagall with a glare at the younger one. "All we saw of Mr. Weasley was after Ranone had gone--with you, Potter. However, _you..._" 

"I can save him," said Harry slowly. 

"Not just him, Harry." Dumbledore had been watching from beneath hooded eyes. "You see, Arthur Weasley is to our faction of the Ministry what Cornelius Fudge is to the rest. He is one of the few strong strands in an otherwise weak web. If such an important strand snaps..." 

A sick feeling suddenly twisted Harry's insides. "It wasn't just about me. It wasn't just me Voldemort wanted." He met Dumbledore's gaze with slow horror dawning on his face. "Ranone didn't just choose Percy to help him in randomly. He would have stunned him anyway; framed him. "He's after the Weasleys." 

"Yes, Harry. Simply put." 

_Oh, God..._ The ghastly image of the Dark Mark hovering in the air above the Burrow burned itself across Harry's mind. A hand landed on his shoulder; he spun about. "We must win this trial, Potter." McGonagall's lips were thin. "Do you understand? Percy Weasley cannot be convicted." 

Harry ran a hand through his unruly black hair and closed his eyes. Too much, it was all too much... 

"What do I have to do?" 

**** 

"He's smarter than I thought." 

"There is more to Harry than meets the eye, Carmen." 

Professor 'Harrison' shot a look at her mentor. "Rysk." 

Dumbledore did not smile as he usually did at the younger one's correction. "I can only protect you for so long, Professor." 

There were alone in the round office. McGonagall and Harry had left several minutes ago. Rysk stood behind Dumbledore's chair, stroking a sleeping Fawkes on his perch. She made no reply as she walked over to the Headmaster's shelf of instruments. The old wizard's eyes followed her. "Why, Carmen?" His quiet voice was laden with pain. 

Rysk picked up a small golden weight. "Someone had to," she replied without turning around, just as softly, infinitely icy. A bitter laugh colored her words. "Besides...taste blood once..." She placed the weight on one end of a golden scale with careful deliberateness, then selected another. 

"You betrayed me a second time." 

"Not you." _Clink._ The scale tipped ever-so-slightly. "No matter what you might think." 

"I am reluctant to sabotage the Ministry's investigation. They were alerted to an Unforgivable Curse being used." 

Rysk paused. "Then don't. I can leave now and they'd never find me." She smiled thinly. "But then, who'll teach Potter to duel?" 

Dumbledore sighed. "No, I will take steps to make sure you are not discovered. But..." 

"I know. I'll have to leave as soon as the year's over." 

Dumbledore stared at Rysk's back inscrutably. "I had hoped you would stay this time." 

Rysk made a dry sort of chuckle. "Things fuck up like that, don't they?" _Clink._ "You were hoping something else, too, Dumbledore." 

"Carmen." 

"_No._" Rysk turned from the scale. Her grey eyes glittered. "No." 

"You did not have to." For the first time anger became apparent in the Headmaster's voice. He rose from his chair. "You did not have to torture him." 

"No, I didn't!" Rysk's hands clenched into tight, powerful fists, but just as quickly as her voice rose, it cooled. She crossed the space to Dumbledore's desk and leaned onto it, spreading her arms. "I didn't. And if I hadn't Black would have never lived to see Azkaban. Snape would have never become our spy if I hadn't. Potter would be fucking _dead _or worse right now if I hadn't." She hissed the words, sounding every bit the venomous serpent. For a long moment there was silence. Dumbledore held his former student's gaze. "I tasted blood, Dumbledore. I tasted blood, and it's too late. But I didn't turn. You just thank God for that." 

"I do." Rysk stepped back from the sadness in Dumbledore's face as if she'd been burnt. Her eyes hardened before she turned away, back to balancing the weights. 

"Sacrifices have to be made, Headmaster." 

"I never meant for you to be one of them." 

"That's what pisses you off, isn't it?" said Professor 'Harrison', coldly sarcastic. "You like to choose what's going to be sacrificed. Sorry, but I sacrificed myself." She suddenly laughed. "I didn't have a clue. I didn't know what would happen if I saved Black's life." Her voice dropped. "I didn't know that the Cruciatus looked like _that._" _Clink. _"Hey, you know whey the Ministry didn't make _Obliviate_ the fourth Unforgivable? Because they use it every bloody day of their lives." The British curse sounded strange on her tongue. "Guess they're not _that_ good at talking out of their asses." She stepped back from the scale, which favored one side slightly over the other. 

"There." She delicately touched the underside of the heavier end. "Fudge." Her fingers gestured to the other side. "And you. Enter Potter." She placed one more golden nugget on the small platform. The scale teetered, then evened out, balancing on the fulcrum precariously. "Nasty bitch," she announced flatly. "One little tip..." She glanced over her shoulder. "Now you have two wild cards. Me." She scooped up one weight, then another. "And Malfoy Junior." She smiled cruelly before walking over and setting them on Dumbledore's desk. The Headmaster stared at her piercingly until she finally spoke. "You know I can't." Her voice was rich with layer upon layer of carefully hidden emotion. "He thinks he killed his parents all this time. What do you think he's going to do if he finds out? That you lied to him, that McGonagall lied to him, for sixteen years?" 

"He will of course be angry, as is his right." 

Rysk's eyebrows rose. "Angry?" Now she came around the desk until only a foot of space remained between her and the old wizard. "_Angry._ Dumbledore, he'll tear this whole fucking castle down, or kill everyone he sees trying." Her voice dropped low. "You know why he came onto our side in the first place. Now you want me to tell him the truth? He'll turn right around and--" 

Dumbledore's voice shook with quiet conviction. "I have faith in Severus's heart." 

"What are you willing to bet on it?" she hissed. When he did not reply she shook her head and turned away. 

"You are afraid," said Dumbledore softly. "Your third betrayal. There is no sin in fear, but if you would continue his suffering for your own peace of mind--" 

"I fear nothing," Rysk spat, whipping about, the rash streetgirl of so many years ago surfacing in her eyes. 

"You fear for Sirius." 

"Black has nothing to do with it." Carmen Rysk stared at her old teacher long and hard. What she said next made Dumbledore flinch. "I gave up every chance I had that day, Dumbledore. I could have been normal. I could have gone back, helped my homies up, lived a life. Now I'm _bound_ to Black wizard through this...this life-debt magic." Her voice dropped to a whisper that filled the entire room, more startling and effective than any shout could have been. "I became worse than a murderer. For you, for your _Order._ So don't - you - talk - about - betrayal." 

She stepped farther away with every word until her back was at the door. She sounded back in absolute control as she twisted the handle, as though she had never used that trembling, murderous tone. "We'll want to keep an eye on Henry. And we need Death Eaters. The more we find on Fudge's side the better. By the way, Potter was looking into your Pensieve." 

With that she slipped quietly out. The Headmaster hefted the two weights she had left on his desk in his hand and stared at them for a long time before walking over to the secret door in the wall and making sure it was securely shut. It had been a while since Carmen had had to do things like hiding in closets, after all. 

**** 

McGonagall watched as Potter climbed the stairs back to Gryffindor tower. Neither of them had said a word between here and the Headmaster's office. By some unspoken agreement he had continued on alone at this staircase, leaving Minerva to watch until he rounded a corner and disappeared. 

The professor let out a sigh and put her fingers to her temples, where a devastating headache was brewing. She was grateful she would not have to witness the words exchanged between Dumbledore and his one-time protégé. Professor 'Harrison' had pointedly been avoiding contact with the Headmaster since the Alps incident, as the entire affair had come to be called, but the confrontation had to come sooner or later. 

In all her long years, Professor McGonagall had learned that such things were as bitter as they were delayed. 

_Minerva had left Dumbledore to deal with Percy Weasley, deciding that finding out what Rysk was up to was just as important as dealing with the misled young man. After inquiring of her colleagues with no result, it finally struck McGonagall where Rysk must have gone. The certainty of the answer made her sick to her stomach. With hurried footsteps, clinging to what dignity she could, the McGonagall rushed down to the dungeons. A cold fist gripped her heart when she saw the door of the Death Eater's cell in existence._

_Severus Snape was sitting next to the wizard's battered body, made grotesque by self-mutilation underneath the Cruciatus Curse, staring hollowly at the blood that continued to make its steady, nauseating way through the cracks in the floor. Minerva fell back against the wall, one hand over her mouth, transfixed against her will at the limbs that stuck at unnatural angles, at the bloodshot, empty eyes that rolled with each gasp for breath. Her wordless noise of horror brought Snape's head sharply up, but the Potions master's eyes were distant and broken. "I tried to stop her," he managed hoarsely, not bothering to push away the hair that fell before his face. McGonagall straightened on shaking legs, knowing that her face had drained of all color. She looked away from the twitching, pitiful mess on the cold stone._

_"What happened? Why didn't anyone hear?" she demanded, her usually stern voice made weak by nausea._

_"I...I..." For once, Snape was at a loss for words. "She stunned me...used a Silencing Charm...oh, God!" He finally seemed to come completely to and threw himself away from the Death Eater. McGonagall tried to calm him even as she herself struggled not to vomit with every whimpering, pathetic noise the tortured wizard made._

_When Dumbledore came down, bringing Madam Pomfrey with him, Minerva had not the heart to lash the Headmaster as she had intended. The Headmaster stared at the broken thing that had once been a man with horror and then impossible grief in his eyes. "No..."_

I told you so, _McGonagall thought silently._

"I told you so," murmured McGonagall again, suppressing a shudder. She sighed through her nose and looked back over her shoulder at the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. _Ah, Albus, couldn't you see? If she could torture and murder at the age of sixteen, she could do it again..._


	27. The Apology

_*g* Well! I do believe I've finally produced a long(er) chapter! ;) Okay, who's reading for Snape? *looks for the raised hands* I hope this chapter'll appease you. That scene was fun to write, if a b*tch. Oh, by the way, Rachel Hunt has drawn another nifty-keen pic of Rysk. (Dude, all the ones I've gotten are way more than I've ever hoped for.) And it's in color! I have to upload the file and as I type this parents are shouting for me to get off, but I promise I'll have the URL up ASAP._   
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Harry found Hermione holding Ron when he got back to the boys' dormitory. His best friend was crying quietly into Hermione's shoulder, half slumped over the bed. Seamus, Dean, and every other boy in the room were silent, watching without question or complaint (even though it was clear that some of them had been roused from sleep). Hermione looked up at Harry, sadness making her face appear much older than it was. He only shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. A commotion erupted from the stairwell behind him. 

"No, Gin, you can't come up here--" 

"Shut up and let me _through_...!" 

Ginny Weasley pushed past her twin brothers and into the dormitory without hesitation. Her brown eyes instantly fell on Ron. "What did they want?" she demanded, rushing forward. Harry caught he shoulder as she went past but was thrown off with surprising strength and viciousness. "Ron," she insisted, putting a hand on his arm, "You didn't, did you?" She shook him. "_Did you?_" 

"Gin..." Fred stepped forward anxiously. 

"Until July." Ron suddenly raised his head, nearly catching Hermione under the chin. His eyes were red and swollen. "Until bloody wanking July! He'll die in there, damn it! They'll kill him!" 

"All right now, Ron, stop it." George glanced at the others in the room quickly. "No one's going to die." Despite his steady words Harry noticed a quivering lump in George's throat. Ginny had sunk to the floor, her lips gone white. 

"Come on, fellows. Let's go," said Neville softly. When no one moved he prodded Lee Jordan and repeated in a commanding tone. "Let's _go._" 

Silently, glancing over their shoulders, the other Gryffindors followed Neville out, brushing past Fred and George, who stood as statues. Ron was shaking his head slowly but emphatically, as if trying to wake from a nightmare. "He didn't want me to." He hiccuped, a sound that would have set Harry to laughing any other time. "He looked at me like he was telling me not to. I swear." He looked up at Hermione, then to his sister. 

"Oh, now, buck up Ron," said Fred, attempting to be jovial. "'Course he didn't want you to. " 

"Bloody Sorting Hat didn't put him into Gryffindor for nothin'," added George. "Big Head that he is.' 

"Did they ask...all of you, too?" asked Harry quietly. 

Ginny looked up suddenly with an anger that seemed impossible in the shy girl. "Yes." Her teeth were clenched. "All of us still going to Hogwarts. We said no, but they didn't make us _look_ at Percy when they threatened us, bloody rat bast--" 

"Ginny!" exclaimed Hermione. 

_Truly Ron's sister,_ thought Harry dryly. Ron grinned weakly at her. 

"Harry's testifying," he said suddenly, pulling back from Hermione and wiping his eyes. "Aren't you?" 

Harry felt a lead weight settling in his stomach, sharply aware of all eyes in the room on him. He nodded dumbly, unable to look away from Ron's fierce, pleading expression. The enormous weight of what hinged on his testimony in a summer that seemed so far away yet was approaching too quickly finally came crashing down onto him. He flinched, as though real, overwhelming pressure had been applied to his shoulders. He tried to speak, say something about Dumbledore having instructed him, an assurance that everything would be okay, that he would do his best, but nothing came from his mouth. At last he turned and strode from the dormitory, his friends' concerned words falling on deaf ears, past the other boys in the common room, ignoring the few questions, and let himself out. 

"Why, whatever's the matter, dear?" inquired the Fat Lady, looking up from her game of cards with visiting paintings. 

Harry pressed the apple on the apple tree and the landscape swung aside. He climbed through the hole and lowered himself onto the top step of the staircase, hearing the picture click shut softly behind him. For a the better part of an hour he sat there, alone atop a narrow spiral, with his head in his hands. For the first time, Harry wanted the tears to come. None came. 

For the first time, Harry Potter realized that it would be a long, long time before he could cry again. 

He pulled a roll of parchments from his robes. Dumbledore had given it to him, saying simply that it would be wise to know the proceedings of a wizard's trial. From what the Headmaster and McGonagall had said, it did not sound all that different from a Muggle's court of law, but then, Harry had never testified in either, and especially not in front of a split jury that was anything but impartial. 

_We can only bloody _hope _that the jury'll be split._ Cornelius Fudge still had a good deal of control over the Ministry and would most likely try to control who would be sitting on that jury, but as of late Dumbledore's faction had been gaining strength and momentum. The problem was that power in the rogue section of the Ministry was centered in the very few with the gall to openly defy Fudge. Dumbledore was clearly reluctant to make an enemy of the Minister, but he was no coward. He and the Weasleys were the driving force of resistance among the ranks of bureaucracy, but if Ron's family fell... 

Harry had had no idea that they were so important. Up until this year, politics within the magical world seemed distant and vague, even petty. It was a jarring shock to suddenly realize what kind of weapon Voldemort could turn the Ministry of Magic into; worse, that it wouldn't be the first time. And even though everyone in the office had refrained from saying it, it was clear that everyone in the office suspected Fudge might not be the only one running the show. 

The Weasleys would be placed under the protection of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry found some comfort in this as he unrolled the parchments and whispered, "_Lumos._" 

The reading was incredibly dull, written much in the same style of _Hogwarts, A History_. It didn't help that Harry was still numb. There were several tactics a witness could use for avoiding a question that interested him, but that was about it. Finally he stood, feeling his legs crack and tingle as blood began to force its way through them, and stepped back out into the real world. No sooner had he closed the landscape painting than did a flurry of movement come flying from him out of the darkness of the hallway. Harry yelled and drew his wand, which was promptly knocked out of his hand by a small ball of feathers that must have been going at fifty kilometers. The reddish owl wheeled back around and landed on Harry's shoulder, its talons digging through his robes. Harry winced, his pulse still racing, and stared at the bird in surprise. "What in the world...?" He held out his arm, and the owl hopped forward onto it. "How did you get in here?" he asked softly, automatically stroking its head. He noticed the envelope tied to one of its legs before realizing how tired the poor thing was. 

Convinced that the entire world had been turned inside out, Harry climbed back into the now-empty Gryffindor common room and crept into the boys' dormitory, taking pains not to wake anyone. The small owl hooted softly. "Shh, shh," he soothed. Harry went to Hedwig's vacant cage and urged the owl onto the perch before taking the food and water dishes and refilling them as quietly as he could. As the owl drank thirstily Harry gently untied the letter and opened it, using his body to shield the light of his wand. His heart jumped into his throat. The handwriting was Sirius's, and his message was terse. 

_Dear Harry,_

_ I hope you're well. The owl is not mine but it is trusted. I cannot send messages directly to the Headmaster, please pass this letter on to him. He will know what to do. Lupin and the others send their regards._

_Sirius_

Beneath his godfather's signature was a cross within a triangle within a circle. Harry's brow furrowed and he looked up at the red-brown owl, but it had settled on the perch and fallen asleep. 

"Harry?" murmured a sleepy but familiar voice. Harry quickly threw the letter onto his bed and turned around. Ron had pulled back his hangings and stuck his head out. Harry's wand illuminated his tousled red hair. His friend blinked slowly. "Watcha doing?" 

"Midnight snack," said Harry, glad that his face couldn't be seen in the darkness. 

"Oh." 

"Get to sleep, Ron." 

"I'm sorry 'bout that." 

It was Harry's turn to blink. "What?" 

"About saying that in front of them. I wasn't thinking...Hermione gave me a talk after you'd gone." Ron grinned weakly but apologetically. Harry could see that his eyes, although no longer red, were tired and and sunken, as they always were after crying. He stood frozen, uncertain of what to say. 

"It's all right, Ron." He smiled, but inwardly he was shocked at his steady, reassuring voice. "Everything's going to be all right." 

Ron's returning smile was strained. Comforted if not convinced, he murmured a good night and retreated back behind the curtains. 

Harry stared at the closed hangings for a long moment. At length he turned and climbed into his own bed, not bother to change, and, tucking Sirius's letter into his robes, settled into the pillow. "_Nox._" 

He fell asleep instantly. 

**** 

Harry started awake with a dreadful sense of urgency. The drapes of the windows had opened of their own accord, flooding the room with pale sunlight. By the empty beds and lack of noise from the common room Harry decided that he must have slept straight into breakfast. On any other Sunday he would have fallen back and slept for another few hours, and he almost did, before he felt Sirius's letter crumple against his side. He leapt out of bed with a soft exclamation. The small red owl blinked slowly and hooted, nipping at the bars of the cage. 

Harry couldn't explain his anxiety; something about this note had his stomach in knots. He feared that putting it off his errand until this morning had been too long of a delay. He straightened his robes and rushed a comb through his hair. In his haste he almost missed the slip of parchment on the floor by Ron's bed. The handwriting looked as hurried as Harry was. 

_Harry,_   
_ We let you sleep. Herm and I are in the library. Get over here, she has an idea._

_Ron._

_P.S. What's with the owl?_

Harry glanced sourly at the bird, who hooted and fluffed its feathers innocently. "I'd like to know," he muttered. The owl gently bit at the finger he offered. With a sigh Harry adjusted his glasses and set off for the library. He took the way through the landscape to the marble staircase. Perhaps it was slower, but he had heard the wave of returning students and did not want to face the questions he would surely be asked. First, he needed to get Sirius's letter to Dumbledore, then to the library. _But not before I find out what in the hell is going on,_ he thought vehemently, jumping off the last two stairs and crossing the small distance to the silver latch. He pushed down on it without bothering to listen for anyone outside. 

He paid for it. As the wall with the suit of armor rumbled aside Harry stepped out and nearly ran into the arms of Professor Snape. 

"Sneaking about again, Potter?" snapped the Potions master. Harry jumped backwards, startled, only to feel his shoulders bump against the empty knight. "All students are to be either out on the grounds, in their common rooms, or in the library. Somehow I doubt your memory needs refreshing." Snape smiled nastily, but the usual twisted delight wasn't there. To Harry it seemed that he was forcing himself through a stale routine. He squared his shoulders, annoyed beyond measure with himself. 

"I'm running an errand to the Headmaster," he said. 

"Indeed?" sneered Snape. "Creeping through the walls to do it?" 

Harry clenched his teeth, fighting not to squirm. The strange anxiety in him was growing stronger. His scar tingled, as if the sands of an hourglass were trickling over it. The sudden alarm combined with his impulsiveness broke his self-control. "This is _important,_" he bit out, trying to brush past the Potions master. He stepped forward too hard, too fast, and Snape had to stumbled backwards to keep his balance. Harry froze. 

"Have a penchant for assault, don't you, Potter?" Snape's hiss was as cold and deadly as his grip on Harry's shoulder. "We'll see the Headmaster about _that,_ rest assured." 

Professor 'Harrison' emerged from the Great Hall at that moment. Harry stiffened. The witch raised her eyebrows at the scene; Snape instantly let go of Harry. "Problem, Professor?" she inquired with icy pleasantness, her gaze lingering on Harry. 

"Mr. Potter will be accompanying me to my classroom." Snape's voice was just short of a snarl. Harry glanced between the two, confused by the increased animosity. The Potions master's eyes were filled with utmost distrust, loathing...and fear. 

"Ah. What for?" 

"Mind your own business, Professor," he snapped. He seemed eager to be out of her company. "Come along, Potter." 

Harry swore silently. "I have to see the Headmaster _now..._!" 

"I'll decide what you do and do not have to--" 

"Professor--" 

"Do not interrupt me...!" 

"Professor, it's from Sirius!" his whispered fiercely. Harry's knees went weak a moment later as he realized how lucky he was that no one else was near the staircase, on in the Great Hall. Snape was staring at him in furious shock; a muscle in Rysk's cheek twitched. Harry sensed that he had broken a terribly strong taboo. After a moment of dead silence Rysk stepped forward and held out her hand. 

"I'll take care of it, Potter." 

He hesitated. Then, slowly, he drew out his godfather's letter and pressed it into her palm. Rysk's fingers closed around it, Snape ushered him away, and Harry was still wondering if he'd done the right thing as he stepped into the dungeons. 

**** 

"Where the bloody hell is he?" muttered Ron, glancing agitatedly at the library door. "Lazy git; we should've woken him." 

"Shh," hissed Hermione, waving her hand absently but emphatically, poring over a book. "I think I've got something." Ron subsided into good-natured grumbling, seeming almost his normal self but for the shadows in his eyes. He leaned his elbows onto the table and propped his chin up in his hands. At length he craned his neck, trying to look over Hermione's shoulder without getting up. "Ron!" his girlfriend snapped, then softened her tone. "You're blocking the light." 

"Excuse _me_," groused Ron. Hermione soothed him by laying a hand on his arm for a moment. Ron looked up suddenly, seeing movement at the door. It wasn't Harry, though, it was Professor 'Harrison'. "Hey," he hissed, nudging Hermione, and added quickly before his head was bitten off, "It's Rysk." 

Hermione's eyes snapped up. From their corner of the library they had an excellent view of the door, but they themselves were half-hidden behind the bookshelves. As they watched, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher went straight for the Restricted Section. To Ron's surprise, Hermione shot straight up out of her seat. "Herm...?" 

"Come on," she murmured, glancing furtively at the librarian, who was thankfully in her office for the time being. Ron had little choice but to follow his girlfriend as she darted around the bookshelves after Rysk. They saw the swirl of her loosely worn robes disappear into the Restricted Section. Hermione motioned silently. Together they carefully peeked through a gap in the books. 

Rysk had selected a book rather quickly, which she set on a small desk. It was a dark, forbidding tome with an almost unholy glow that Ron and Hermione could feel even at a distance. They both shivered. Professor 'Harrison' muttered a spell over it, and of its own accord the cover opened. The witch shrugged her robes off before reaching into the pocket of her jeans and unfolding a piece of parchment. Her grey eyes ran over it quickly, then she began to turn the yellowed pages of the book carefully, almost delicately, her brows knitted together. 

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. _What is she _doing? 

**** 

Harry stood silently, resolved not to be defiant. Defiance would get him no where. He needed to weather Snape, then get to the library as soon as possible. 

Unfortunately, it seemed the Potions master had other plans. Without looking at Harry he walked around his desk and sat. For what felt like a long time they stared at each other. At last Harry scuffed his toe against the stone floor and spoke. "When's my detention, Professor?" 

Snape's lips thinned, but otherwise his face remained emotionless. "You will be wishing for a detention, Potter, if I ever catch you snooping in my affairs again." 

Harry blinked. "What?" 

"Don't play innocent with me!" snarled Snape, standing up and slamming a hand against the desk. It was a moment before he regained his composure. "Perhaps," he said softly, "you should look into a career of journalism, Potter. You show a knack for research in the library." Harry bit his lip. Snape's eyes gleamed triumphantly. "It was chance, really. Argus Filch made a passing comment. He could hear you clearly through the bookshelves." 

Harry took a breath, trying to think of something to say. At last he risked, "So you _were _trying to make a Memory potion." Snape stiffened. He stared very hard at Harry. Something suddenly clicked in Harry's mind; an important corner of the puzzle was suddenly made clear. "No," he breathed, unmindful of his professor, "no, it's not that, she only _thought..._" 

Snape stepped forward. "She?" 

Harry's head snapped up and he met Snape's gaze. "No...no one, sir," he said quickly, unable to think of a more convincing answer. A terrible, almost insane expression had entered the Potions master's face. Harry almost took a step back. "Professor, are you all right?" 

"She?" repeated Snape, with deadly deliberateness. His voice was enough to send chills down Harry's spine. His ordeal in the Alpine mountains had been enough to put much of his life into perspective, and very few things remained that could genuinely frighten Harry. Snape was one of those things. 

Harry shook his head, staring at the sleeve of the older one's robes, trying to see through to where the ugly brand of the Dark Mark lay hidden beneath the folds, burned forever into pale skin. His mind was racing and his theory was wild and far-fetched, but still Harry was absolutely sure. It had to be right. That had to be why. Professor Snape noticed where his gaze was and, with a chilling snarl, lunged forward so that his hands slammed into the wall on either side of Harry. "OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" 

"I don't know anything!" cried Harry, startled. Out of reflex (he reflected later that Professor 'Harrison' would have been proud), he drew his wand, so quickly that it almost seemed to flick into his hand. Snape grabbed his wrist and twisted it away, faster than a Golden Snitch, no doubt out of reflex as well. It all happened within a second. Harry made no move to struggle, still frozen by his unintentional audacity. Then he noticed that Snape was shaking and, surprising both of them, took advantage of the situation. "You overestimated me, Professor." His voice was glacially calm again, although it was the only part of him that was. "I think I know more now than I ever did." 

It was true. What had been floating fragments of clues were now forming a clear picture. Snape had been cleared by the Ministry despite his being a Death Eater because he had come over to spy for their side. He had also not been convicted for the murder of two people partially because he had been placed under the Imperious Curse, partially because Dumbledore had pulled strings. Only now did Harry realize that both acquittals were connected: Snape had, after killing so many, finally broken under the guilt of his last crime and defected. 

He said all of this to the Potions master in a low, neutral voice. In the silence that followed Snape's cold fingers grew slack about his arm and slid away. For a moment Harry thought that Snape was going to spring forward and try to kill him, that he might have to use his wand after all. Instead the professor turned abruptly away, hiding his face, which had drained of all color. "Get out." 

"The only thing I don't understand, sir, is who they were." 

"Get out!" 

Harry flinched but did not give. "They must have been very important to you." 

"Are you deaf, Potter?" hissed Snape, whipping about and staring with intense loathing at him. 

"No, sir, but you've said that to me already this year and I think I made a mistake when I listened." 

"Ah, yes," he sneered, "you should have stayed and pried _directly_ instead of looking Soulsbane up in a book!" 

"No, Professor, I was worried about you." It was true, but Harry wasn't quite sure of it at the moment. Snape could certainly make himself difficult to pity, no matter what his plight. 

"A point for inconsistency, Potter. I remember clearly that you told me in no uncertain terms that I _disgust_ you." The Potions master bared his arm and thrust the tattoo forward. Harry winced, but not at the Dark Mark. He clenched his fists and finally swallowed his pride. 

"That was...that wasn't...I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean it." He lifted his chin to stare Severus Snape dead in the eye. "I'm sorry." 

Snape stumbled back, as if Harry had dealt him a blow. 

"I told you already I don't hate you. I don't know why you hate _me._" 

"Yes, you do." 

Harry spread his hands helplessly. The firm control had left his voice and he was once again a young wizard, only fifteen years old. "I know what Sirius and..." He trailed off, unable to blame Remus Lupin, unable to name Peter Pettigrew or blemish his father. "I know what they did to you. I'm not them. I'm not...I'm not my father. I can't take the blame." A frustrated breath escaped him. "So I don't understand why you blame me." 

"You are hardly blameless," sneered Snape. 

Harry's face reddened in anger. "No," he agreed reluctantly, then added fiercely, "But _you_ started it." It was a childish phrase, but it was true. 

The Potions master's jaw tightened, but he did not deny it. At last he sat down on a student's desk, suddenly seeming very small with shoulders hunched, despite his imposing height. "I won't even ask how you found out." 

Harry blinked, surprised, but hardly displeased. He made a weak attempt at a grin. "Please don't." 

"You have to be involved." Snape laughed mirthlessly, angrily. "Every time, the famous Harry Potter is involved, nosing around where he has no business, always coming out unscathed and glorified. Fitting." 

His words struck a nerve that had been burned too many times. "Oh, yes," Harry bit out sarcastically, "it's so much fun, being taunted because I have a stupid cut on my head, being pointed at by first years who all think I'm going to kill Voldemort, watching my friends get hurt and killed. I love it, I bask in the glory." 

Snape had looked up sharply, face inscrutable. With a poisonous glare Harry turned on his heel and began to stalk out, regretting every word of his apology. Slimy, greasy-haired, arrogant _bastard..._! 

"Potter!" 

Harry stopped and glanced sullenly over his shoulder. 

"They were my parents." Snape's knuckles were white, clutching at the fabric of his robes, making it clear how deep a cut Harry had prodded at. Harry slowly pivoted about, eyes wide. The Potions master was watching him with queer eagerness. "I tortured them. Slowly. And then I finished it." 

"Oh, my God," he breathed. "You didn't...?" 

"I _did._ There." Snape's voice was unsteady, but a sick smile spread over his features. "Isn't that _disgusting,_ Potter?" 

Harry stared at him, lost for words. It was obvious what Snape was trying to do, and hardly surprising, but still shocking. He wanted Harry to hate him. The way he was staring at him was unnerving: resentful and wounded, yet triumphant, as if certain of his last, desperate attempt. Harry slowly shook his head, crossing the distance between them and stopping just a meter short. His anger had been wiped away by a wave of incredible pity. "No!" he exclaimed softly. "No, it...it wasn't your fault..." Very hesitantly, he reached out a hand and laid it on Snape's shoulder, much in the same way he had before. Snape flinched away, his expression of victory fading away to something akin to fear. He flinched away. 

"Get out," he whispered. 

This time, Harry complied. As he pulled the door open he glanced back over his shoulder at Professor Snape, still turned away. "I'm sorry," he said again, helplessly. He stepped out and pushed the door closed, then leaned back against it and ran his hands over his face, overwhelmed. At length he straightened and began to trudge back to the main part of the school. 

He had lied. There was one more thing he still did not understand: what did Rysk have to do with any of this? 

**** 

Professor 'Harrison's' shoulders tensed. Both Ron and Hermione caught their breaths, set on edge by the intense look in her eyes. She quickly ran a finger down the page, glanced again at the parchment in her hand, then hissed something over the book. Hermione and Ron caught, "..._English._" An instant later Rysk paled. She stared in horror at the tome, one hand gripping the edge of the table, the other running under a line of text. That hand was trembling. She suddenly looked up at the ceiling, slamming the book shut, causing the two spies to cringe. "_Shit_." She glanced at her watch. "Fucking gods!" Real fear was in her voice. "_Shit!_" 

Ron recovered in time to jerk a gaping Hermione deeper into the shadows as Rysk blazed past them at full sprint. 


	28. Letters

_Finally! *shakes head* Real life has never been more of a bitch. Apologies for not having this one up sooner. I do hope what's in it will be enough compensation. And, as promised, here's the link to Rachel Hunt's other pic: http://www.dreamwater.org/jade/Carmen%20Rysk.jpg (copy/paste) Many thanks, Rach!_

_Enjoy! (If you even remember what happened last chapter. ;))_   
____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dumbledore and Rysk watched as the great eagle owl disappeared over the lake. The younger one narrowed her eyes against a wind that came over the water. "Are you sure that's safe?" 

Dumbledore looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Nothing is safe anymore, Carmen." He sighed tiredly, sounding almost too fatigued to be worried. "Especially if your theory proves true." 

Her lips thinned. "It will." 

The Headmaster's mouth quirked. "Was your research so thorough? And you never bothered to notify me first. Remind me to advise Mr. Potter against using you as an intermediate." He held up a hand as she opened her mouth, instantly turning serious. "No, I believe you. I have not seen you so shaken in a long time." 

"I haven't seen you run so fast for an owl in a long time," she returned. 

Albus chuckled, but his eyes did not twinkle. "Fair enough." 

Rysk let out a thin breath through her nose. Color was just returning to her face. "This is insane." Her gaze still lingered in the sky where the owl had last been seen as a grey speck. "The words of the Summoning were lost with Le Fey. Even _Infinite Darkness_ didn't have anything on it, just that it's centered in Ireland. Which fits the bill," she finished darkly. 

Dumbledore turned with a frown. "It is dangerous to turn those pages, Carmen. I would not have you spiral farther downwards." 

"I'm fine." An icy, brittle smile that held a touch more black amusement than the Headmaster was comfortable with. "Someone has to do these things." 

The Headmaster sighed deeply, looking again to the lake. "Tom Riddle is the most dire master of the Dark Arts since the days of Merlin. Do you honestly believe he needs the tomes of Morgana Le Fey? No, it was only a matter of time. He knows the Dementors, knows them as no witch or wizard can." His bright blue eyes had clouded slightly, lost in the centuries, and something grim and terrible had spread into his voice, dropping it to a near whisper. "He needs not the ancient texts. Nay, not Voldemort." 

There was a silence. Dumbledore never saw Rysk's fingers linger over his shoulder, never knew that she snatched her hand back as though she'd been burnt. "Dumbledore," she said dryly, with the barest hint of gentleness. "Wrong Age." 

The old wizard blinked, then shook his head and looked at Rysk. "I concede, Carmen, that I had hoped that there might be a way to reveal the truth to Severus. But that is not one of the true reasons I asked you to teach here. I had hoped for some semblance of reconciliation." 

Rysk features hardened as she stepped past Dumbledore, closer to the lake. "There's nothing to reconcile." Another wind pushed at her robes, revealing her bold Muggle clothing. She glanced over her shoulder. "What are you playing at, Dumbledore? Why haven't you kicked me out of here yet?" The Headmaster remained silent, and Rysk went on. "Twice, I've done it twice, and I'm still teaching here. You act like you trust me. What are you _playing_ at?" 

"I do trust you, Carmen," he said quietly. 

"You're insane." 

"Many tell me so." His voice was mild. Rysk closed her eyes, making sure her face was turned away from Dumbledore. "But after all, _you_ trust _me._" He raised his eyebrows as she shot him a cold, incredulous look over her shoulder. "You must, at least to some degree. Otherwise you would not still be here." 

Professor 'Harrison' turned abruptly, her loose robes swirling in a grandiose manner to rival Snape's, and walked away without a word. Dumbledore watched her enter the castle with a sad smile, knowing he had won that round. 

**** 

The O.W.L.s were Tuesday. For Harry, they couldn't have come at a worse time. He had walked to the library, but Ron and Hermione had gone. After numbly checking out a few books--that is, the ones that Hermione had missed--he had walked back to the common room, planning to lie down on his bed and stare at the ceiling for a couple hours. 

But the bad day wasn't done with him yet. Ron fairly tacked him as he stepped through the Fat Lady. "Where the bloody hell were you?" he demanded, never minding the books that went flying from Harry's arms. 

"Ron, shh," hissed Hermione, glancing uneasily at everyone's inquisitive stares. No one asked a question, though, it was doubtful even a game of Quidditch would have roused the Gryffindors from studying. (The first to fourth years were all up in their dorms, terrified of incurring a hysterical, cramming fifth year's wrath.) All noses were back in a book before Harry could blink. 

"I _went._ You weren't _there_," he snapped, irritated, pulling away from Ron and stooping to pick up his books. When he straightened they were both still staring at him. "What's wrong?" he asked, noticing belatedly that his friends' faces were ashen. "Guys?" he said weakly, fearing the worst. 

They told him everything that had happened in the library in low, terse voices--or at least, Hermione's voice was low--as they drew him into a far corner of the room. By the time they were finished Harry thought he was going to throw up. "Are...are you sure?" he asked, his voice as pale as his face. Ron nodded. 

"She ran past us like the devil was after her." A pause. "Wait, she _is_ the devil..." 

"Harry?" Hermione was staring intently at him, and with an edge of impatience. Harry didn't miss the glance she threw at his books: even now, she wanted to study. "What in the name of..._what_ is going on?" And she stamped her foot, much as she would have as a first year. 

Harry spread his hands helplessly, feeling like a fool. He really was going to be sick. "There's...there was this letter, from...Snuffles...and...and I ran into Snape and it had to be gotten to Dumbledore so I gave it to her..." 

"You WHAT?!" 

Harry flinched at their voices, raised in unison. "Shh," he pleaded, glancing nervously over their shoulders. "It was _important._" 

"What'd it say?" demanded Ron. 

"I don't know! He just told me to get it to Dumbledore, and then there was this weird...sign, a cross and a triangle and a circle or _something..._" Harry moved his finger randomly about in the air, trying to draw the symbol without success. Hermione and Ron exchanged looks. 

"Do you think that was the parchment she was looking at?" breathed Hermione. 

"Must've been." Ron looked at him wide-eyed, half accusingly. "Harry, what do we do?" 

"Nothing!" Harry pushed past both of them. His hands were clenched at his sides as he marched to his spilled books, gathered them, and sat himself down at an unoccupied chess table with an air of finality. "Nothing," he repeated, shaking Ron's hand off his shoulder. "I'm _studying_ now, so that I can _pass_ the O.W.L.s and _then_ the world can go on screwing my life up!" An undeniable pressure that was not quite pain had been building through his entire body. When Ron tried to speak, he snapped much more sharply than he meant to: "Go away!" 

And he was left alone. By now he was too numb and angry and tired for even smarting regret to have much impact. For a while Harry simply glared at an open book, not even sure if it was rightside up. Then at length he got up and fetched his notes. He studied as hard as Hermione ever had that night, and refused to think about anything else--was unable to think about anything else. No one talked to him, for which he was grateful. The Boy Who Lived felt that he might just snap if stretched one centimeter further. 

**** 

"And who has the answer to number 76?" 

It was a haggard, sleepless class that Snape addressed on Monday. There was an amazing lack of tension between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. Everyone, even Crabbe and Goyle, had hung onto Snape's every word as they went over the review. The Potions master swept through the rows, looking down his crooked nose at parchments. Harry tensed and kept his eyes glued to his desk when he felt Snape approach. Certain that the professor felt as uncomfortable as he, Harry was naturally shocked when he saw the black robes suddenly stop from the corner of his eye. He felt Snape hesitate. "Do you have the answer to number 76, Mr. Potter?" His voice was glacial. 

A quick glance told Harry that he did indeed have the answer to number 76. He bit his lip and let a long silence reign before taking a shaky breath. "No, sir, I don't." 

"I see," sneered Snape. "See me after class, Potter." He moved on. "The correct answer is--" 

A sharp rap on the door. Before Snape made an acknowledgement it cracked ajar to reveal Dumbledore from the neck up. "Professor?" Harry's head snapped up out of instinct. Something in him was alarmed to realize that he was starting to recognize that grave sort of tone in the Headmaster's voice. "Forgive me, I realize the O.W.L.s are tomorrow, but there are some pressing matters that Mr. Weasley needs to be informed of." 

Murmurs rippled throughout the class. _Nothing_ ever happened to Ron. Harry looked over at his friend, but instead of the pleased if slightly embarrassed flush he had been expecting, Ron had gone as white as a sheet. 

Snape nodded once, without a scowl. As Ron stood under the concerned eyes of Hermione, Dumbledore added, "And Mr. Potter as well, if possible." 

"I'm afraid it's not, Headmaster." 

Harry had already half-stood. He glanced back and forth between Snape and Dumbledore, uncertain. The older wizard seemed about to push the issue, when Harry shook his head very minutely and sat back down. Snape let out a quiet, thin breath that Harry barely heard. With an inscrutable expression in his blue eyes the Headmaster inclined his head. "Very well." Ron joined him on the other side of the door, and it closed. 

"Granger!" rapped Snape suddenly. Hermione started, caught off guard, still staring at the door. "What color should a non-organic cooling agent turn when applied to an organic potion?" 

Harry glared at Snape's back. Hermione, however, met the Potions master's eyes with a level gaze. "What kind of organic potion, Professor?" 

Another hesitation on Snape's part. Maybe last month Harry would have smiled a nasty smile. "High Blood." 

"Silver or iridescent. Sir." 

Several sniggers came from both sides of the room. Snape turned away sharply without bothering to acknowledge Hermione's correct response, a vein in his temple throbbing. Harry noted with unease that he did not pick on another student for the duration of the class, a fact that did not bode well for him. When Snape finally dismissed them Harry remained sitting, staring fixedly at the edge of the table. He thought he heard Hermione murmur something as she went past. He didn't answer. When the door had closed behind the last student Harry looked up at the Potions master, sitting at his desk. There was very long silence that translated into strange humming lights behind Harry's eyes. At last he reached up and rubbed at them before asking one of the questions that had been gnawing at his mind. "Is it why?" His voice bounced gently off of the stone walls. 

Some of the terseness in Snape's shoulders drained away; he seemed relieved that someone had spoken. Harry didn't know where he got that idea, though, as in the next instant the professor's lip curled. "Why what, Potter?" 

"Why you...came back." He was too tired to be touched by the sneer. 

Snape nodded, once, and folded his long, thin fingers together. Leaning forward, he fixed Harry with a black stare. "I said I wouldn't ask how you came by your information, Potter. But I do now." 

The review packet started to blur in Harry's burning vision. He shook his head to clear it. "The Headmaster," he said mechanically. "I mean, his Pensieve," he added hastily, alarmed at the frightening, betrayed expression that passed over the Potions master's face. Snape relaxed, but only slightly. 

"His Pensieve, Potter?" he asked with an arched eyebrow. 

"Yes, sir." 

Snape leaned back in his chair. "And so you are privy to Albus Dumbledore's private thoughts, as well." Harry said nothing. "Tell me, is there anything you haven't stuck your nose in?" 

A smile tugged unbidden at Harry's lips. "I don't know, sir." For a while they sat in a silence that wasn't comfortable, but nor was it tense. At length Harry felt at ease enough to say what he needed to say, press for an answer, and be able to walk away with whatever he received. "I'm very sorry about it, Professor Snape. I really, really am." 

"I don't want your pity, Potter." Snape spat the last two words like venom, straightening as though Harry had deliberately struck a raw nerve. 

"Fine." Harry stood suddenly and walked to the front of the room, coming to a stop with his hands on Snape's desk. The Potions master watched him inscrutably, adding to Harry's discomfort: he had no idea what he intended to do. At last he bit his lip and extended his hand. "I think we got off to a bad start." He hoped Snape couldn't hear the waver in his voice. "So, hello. I'm Harry Potter." 

The trace of bitterness in Snape's voice spoke volumes. "The Boy Who Lived." 

"No. Just Harry Potter." 

Snape stared at Harry. "You don't want to know me," he said in a soft, strange way. But when Harry didn't retract his hand, he clasped it. 

**** 

"Good, Longbottom," said Rysk, lowering her wand after Neville had successfully countered the disarming hex, "Go on and sit down." 

After Neville had returned to his seat, still shaking a bit, Professor 'Harrison' sat down behind her desk, then checked her watch. "That's all the reviewing for today." She leaned back and actually propped her feet up as she shuffled through some parchments. "After these tests--" 

"_Exams,_" hissed Hermione under her breath, annoyed. 

"--you're going to be focusing on actually duelling each other." She paused, scanning a sheet, before going on, not even looking up. "In case any of you are getting any ideas, anyone that uses the wrong kind of curse gets to duel _me._" Her grey eyes snapped up suddenly to settle on Malfoy, who shifted a bit. Another minute passed in silence. Harry stared down at his parchment, scribbled with notes, and decided that he had better re-copy them if he wanted them to be legible. He found himself staring at the silver dragon on Rysk's shirt, the same one she had worn at the Welcoming Feast. 

Hermione nudged him. "What did Snape do?" she whispered. Harry only shook his head. She got tired of waiting for his answer in short order and instead asked, "Where's Ron?" Harry shook his head again, this time out of worry. Ron had not been in his seat when Harry had walked in late with a pass from Snape. It made him almost wish he had gone with Dumbledore. Almost. 

"Dismissed," said Rysk coolly, just before the bell on her desk sprang into the air and began ringing, accompanied by the cacophony of noise created by other similar things throughout the school. Harry quickly gathered his things and joined the surge of students toward the door, one hand on Hermione's shoulder so as not to lose her, but a suddenly grip on his own shoulder startled him into releasing her and spinning around. Harry looked up at Professor 'Harrison', and a split second later his scar began to burn. 

"_Ah!_" He stumbled back from her, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. The pain subsided the moment her fingers left him, settling into an uneasy throb. Hermione turned in the doorway, fighting the current of students. "Harry?" 

Rysk strode quickly to the door and closed it, murmuring a Locking Charm. Harry dropped his hand and looked up at her, uneasy. "What was that?" he demanded without thinking, as frightened as he was angry. 

Professor 'Harrison' studied him for a moment, ignoring his question. She leaned back against the door in a languid manner, like a cat's. "What's up with Snape?" There was something in her casual drawl that put Harry on edge; beneath the pretense of indifference her eyes were studying him intensely. 

"What do you mean?" he asked, then decided when she arched an eyebrow not to insult her intelligence. "Nothing." His voice was wary. "He was just...just picking on me again." 

"I see." Rysk nodded at a desk. When Harry didn't move, "Go on, Potter. I'm not going to kill you." 

Harry fought back a shudder as he slid into a seat and Rysk leaned back against one. "Next class will be coming soon, Professor," he said quietly. 

"I don't have third years on Mondays," she replied with a thin smile. 

"What do you want?" 

She stared at him. "The Headmaster wanted me to talk to you, since he couldn't get to you during Potions." Harry's head snapped up. "About Black's letter." 

"Yes?" he said eagerly. "You got it to him?" 

"Of course." He didn't like the way she said that and instinctively touched his fingers to his scar. 'Harrison's' eyes followed the movement. "I touched a book, Potter, that most people shouldn't touch." Her explanation was abrupt and careless. "It taints you a bit. Very pages are permeated with traces of the Dark Arts." She held up her hand, and Harry could almost feel something negative surrounding her fingertips. "That's probably what set your alarm off." She nodded dryly at his forehead. 

"What...what were you doing in that book?" said Harry, remembering full well the events in the library recounted by Ron and Hermione. 

Rysk steepled her fingers, resting them on her stomach. "Black asked us to do some research. Do you remember him mentioning an 'Initiation'?" 

"Yes," replied Harry slowly, drawing the word out. 

"The Order wants to stop whatever Voldemort's forces are up to before they regroup. But they don't have resources like our library." 

"Where did he ask that?" he interrupted. "I didn't see it." 

"He Charmed the words to be invisible. That's what that mark was for; tells us that there's more to it." 

"Oh." 

Rysk's grey eyes misted slightly. She seemed troubled; but her voice only became colder. "I researched. And I found that the Initiation has several other variations in different languages. There was only one of those, though, that had to take place in Ireland. Which is where the Order was first monitoring Voldemort." 

"Ireland?" 

She smiled grimly. "The 'Initiation' is a variation of the translation of 'The Summoning'. The Summoning of the Forever Hollow." She repeated it in Latin, and Harry's flesh prickled horribly. A chill ran down his spine. "You know what that is, Potter?" 

He shook his head. 

"It's an old rite, created or discovered or maybe just used by Morgana Le Fey." Rysk's American accent had sharpened to the point of being harsh. "Thought lost forever in her book of Dark Arts. It was the way to summon the Dementors; to bring them under your command." 

Harry blinked once, twice, then nearly fainted. His knuckles went white as his fingers curled around the edges of his desk. "What do you mean, _thought lost_?" he whispered. The very memory of the open, sucking, hungry mouth of a Dementor had already quickened his breathing, started his pulse fluttering. "No." His eyes were wide, horrified. "Oh, God. Azkaban. _Percy._" 

**** 

It was nearly midnight before the face of Sirius Black, then later those of Arthur and Molly Weasley, vanished from the fireplace, and the office door closed behind four silent, pale redheads, ushered out by Professor 'Harrison', McGonagall turned instantly and glared at Dumbledore, her fatigue taking no toll on her ire. "Really, Albus, I understand that the Weasley children have a right to know...but did you have to tell them _now_? The day before the exams?" 

"As I told you before," said Dumbledore calmly from behind his desk, "Ron, Ginny, and the twins will take the O.W.L.s at a later date. The greatest folly now would be to divide the Weasley family further, even by keeping secrets to protect the ears of the children." 

"And what about Potter? He didn't need to know." 

"It was a letter from his godfather, who he's constantly worried about. I can't see how sending Harry into fits of anxiety would have helped his exam day, either." 

McGonagall shook her head, causing her crooked hat to bobble precariously. "Well, if _this_ doesn't sent him into fits of anxiety, I don't know what will." 

"Harry is a boy who does not handle ignorance well. I believe that he would rather have something to be concerned over than to dreadfully worried over something he can't understand." 

Minerva pressed her lips together and staring disapprovingly at the Headmaster, but did not argue further. "Arthur and Molly are under protection, then?" 

"Yes. We may even move them." Dumbledore sighed, running a hand over his beard. "This is a grave turn of events, Minerva." His voice sounded thin and tired. "A very grave turn." 

For a while the only sound to be heard was the quiet snores of the portraits in the room. "What about Carmen?" asked McGonagall quietly, sinking down into a chair. Dumbledore was staring straight ahead, as if lost in another world. "Can she be trusted?" 

"I know," replied the Headmaster slowly, "what you will say. The same you have been saying this entire year; the same you said sixteen years ago." 

"And I'll continue to say it!" snapped McGonagall, rising from her seat. "I've no idea what makes you break every law and personal principal for this girl--" 

"Woman, Minerva." 

The Headmistress stopped abruptly. "I always see the girl when I look at her." She stared hard at Dumbledore. "I always see a sixteen-year-old murderer. Do you see that, when you talk to her? It chills me, Albus, it chills me to the bone." 

A wan smile. "She would be much flattered, should she ever know it. There is not much in this world that can faze you." 

"Reconsider, I urge you." The Headmaster looked up to find the other standing before his desk, leaning against it in much the same way Rysk had done several nights ago. "I do not trust her." 

"She has never once acted against us." 

"But the way she acts _for_ us...she has already used every curse and every tactic that we fight against. She is a _cancer_. Albus." McGonagall peered down over her spectacles, trying to catch Dumbledore's eye. "Surely I needn't remind you of how all the great empires fell; how every dark witch and wizard became corrupt." She waited, but Dumbledore did not reply. "From the inside. The _inside._" 

"I have not forgotten my history lessons." There was a frost on his voice and in his eyes when he finally met her gaze. 

"Then _use_ them, for Merlin's sake!" 

He continued as if he had not heard her exclamation. "Lily and James are dead. They are dead because I failed them. I failed Peter Pettigrew as well, even if he found redemption in the end." 

"You can't blame yourself for every bad apple that comes from Hogwarts," she snapped. 

"No." Dumbledore's gaze was distant and his voice barely above a whisper. "But there is more I could have done. There must have been something I could have done. _Something._" He passed a hand over his face and went on in a more resolved way. "And I continue to fail Severus each day the truth is kept from him. But Carmen..." 

"You think you can change her?" Only deep respect for Dumbledore kept the scorn out of McGonagall's words. "Albus, even when you found her, there was nothing you could have done for her. She had chosen her path, or it had been chosen for her, perhaps both. You need to let her go. She was never one of yours in the first place." 

There was a long silence. "No," said Dumbledore finally, his head still bowed in thought. "No. You may not trust her, Minerva. But I do." 

**** 

_Dear Sirius,_

_I just found out. Is it true? What are we going to do? We have to do something! Ron wouldn't talk to anyone, not even Hermione. I thought he was going to kill himself or something, I really did. We can't let this happen. If the Dementors_

_If Percy_

_I'm sorry. I can't write, hand's shaking too much. This is a pointless letter. The O.W.L.s are tomorrow. I think I'm going to throw up. But I feel better because I know what's going on, at least. And I found out about Snape's parents. I mean everything. Did you know? You know, of course. I almost feel sorry for him. I do feel sorry for him. I almost told him that it wasn't his fault, with the curse and everything._

_I have to go study now. And check on Ron. Write back, please. I'm afraid you aren't alive._

_Love,_   
_Harry_

_P.S. Say hello to Remus for me. And Mrs. Figg and everyone else..._

Hedwig seemed to sense how Harry's fingers trembled as he tied the letter to her leg, because she flew like she had never flown before. 

_****_

_Harry,_

_Don't tell him! Don't tell him the truth, I beg you. It is not yours or mine to tell. He has forgotten, leave it that way. Does she know you know? Don't let her know! I'm afraid of what she might do. I know it's horrible, to make him think that he killed them, but if...he'll turn, Harry, he'll go back. Please. I'm willing to forgive how careless you were in sending your last letter if you just keep silent. Don't tell Snape the truth, and don't report Professor Harrison._

_She did it to save my life. Snape had his wand to my heart. She had to do _something _to make him let go of me. Do you understand? I can't tell you how important this is. 'That curse' is what is keeping all of us alive._

_Love,_   
_Snuffles_

Harry looked up from the parchment, scrawled with handwriting as shaky as his own had been. At first he had been confused at Sirius's words and desperation, until he had seen the last few lines. Then his blood had frozen. He didn't even feel the sharp nip Hedwig gave him on the ear. Now he was exceedingly grateful that he had waited until after all the exams were done before opening his godfather's letter. 

The noise of conversation in the Great Hall turned into one terrible, thrumming silence. Harry's eyes pierced through the students eating their dinner; travelled along the length of the High Table. There was Snape. And as far away from him as possible was Carmen Rysk. 

"Harry?" 

He stared at Hermione, barely registering the concerned touch on his shoulder, unaware that his near-empty cup of pumpkin juice had dropped from his left hand. 

_"I think...someone used Obliviate on Professor Snape."_

_"He was placed under the Imperius Curse by Voldemort and forced to kill them."_

Harry looked down again at the letter. _...it's horrible, to make him think that he killed them...don't report Professor Harrison._

At the High Table, Snape leaned forward to say something just as Rysk turned her head. Their eyes caught. Snape flinched; pulled back; touched his fingers to his brow. 

He had not known everything. Now he did, and he wished he knew nothing. 

"It was you." The words burned his dry throat. There was suddenly nothing in the Great Hall besides the cold face of Rysk. "It was you." 


	29. The Quidditch Cup

_Whee. A bunch of fun scenes all in one chapter! Hope you all enjoy it, too. *g*___

_I hope to finish up this one by chap. 30. By making it _really effin' long._;) 'scuse the French.___

_Oh, and Bloodmoon aka Katie--nope, haven't forgotten your awesome picture, but my scanner is kinda being borrowed by my dad at the moment. :-\. I'll get it up ASAP, promise._   
____________________________________________________________________________________________________

The common room was empty at midnight. Moonlight streamed in from a window whose curtains had been pulled back. Hermione tilted her head quizzically at that window, pausing on the steps to the girl's dorm. Her gaze travelled across the darkened room until it landed on a lone figure in the shadows cast by a fire. 

"Harry?" Hermione padded down the rest of the stairs and stopped just behind her friend. Here all was dark save for the glow of the fireplace. It struck Hermione odd that in the red of the flames Harry's eyes looked so very old. "What are you doing up so late?" No answer. "Are you quite all right? You haven't said a word since--" 

As if she were not there, Harry reached into his robes and tossed a letter into the fire. 

"What's that?" demanded Hermione, drawing her wand. Harry caught her wrist silently with a shake of his head. Hermione let her arm slowly drop. They watched as the parchment curled inwards on itself, the edges glowing ember-red before collapsing into ashes. At length Harry turned away. 

"I had a stomach ache," he said dully in passing. 

Hermione stared after him until his back melded into the darkness of the stairwell. The fire crackled mercilessly. She slowly crossed the room to the window through which the moon poured and, leaning against it, began to cry. 

**** 

The day after the O.W.L.s was known as the Fifth Year Holiday. It was a day envied by any too young to enjoy it, a day referred to dryly by the senior students, and a day completely lost upon those in that lucky year. It would hardly have mattered whether or not the fifth years were allowed a holiday; they would have taken one anyway. 

Even on this mild Wednesday morning, few did any more than loll in the grass by the lake. But a letter had come during breakfast from Hagrid, addressed to Ron. At Hermione's urging, he had accepted Hagrid's invitation to tea. Harry found himself forced to go as well, otherwise those questions that were in every glance Hermione threw him might just burst forth. 

"M'awfully sorry, Ron." Hagrid's tentative voice broke the silence that had covered their gathering like a blanket. "If there's anythin' I can do--" 

Ron shook his head forcefully. Harry stared down at his lap. 

Hermione put a hand on her boyfriend's shoulder helplessly. "Ron," she said, a pleading note to her voice, "it's not your fault, really--" 

"Look, just shut up!" yelled Ron, causing Hermione to jump as his stone-cold tea spilled over her hand. 

There was a great clatter as Hagrid shot to his feet. "Now, there's no need for that...!" 

"I'm fine! Why does everyone keep asking? I'M BLOODY FINE!" 

"Ron, I just--" 

"Now...now...c'mon Ron, sit yerself down, there's a good lad..." 

Harry could hear Ron's heavy breathing as Hermione pulled him back down; could feel him trembling. But he never once looked up from his lap. Fang whimpered. 

Much noise and grunts and awkward shuffling. "'ave some more tea. 'arry?" Hagrid peered down at Harry , concerned, as he carefully refilled his cup. "All right there?" Harry nodded wordlessly. With a heavy sigh Hagrid sat back down, scraping the chair over the rough wooden floor. "Well then...oh, now, Ron, don't cry, you'll set me to blubberin'...no, no, don't do that..." The half-giant's voice cracked and he sniffed loudly. 

After a long silence conversation began again, with Hermione fretting over her O.W.L scores and Hagrid regaling them with his latest creature encounter in the Forbidden Forest. Harry did not look up until Hermione stood and thanked Hagrid with a tired but warm smile. Ron mumbled something as he turned to go. Hermione opened the door and turned at the threshold. "Harry?" 

Harry shook his head. "I'll catch up." 

Hermione frowned but nodded and let the door swing shut behind her. Harry let out a long breath and leaned forward onto the table, head in his hands. Hagrid glanced at him sidelong from where he was setting the cups and plates in the sink. "Somethin' wrong, Harry?" 

Harry took off his glasses and cleaned them on his robes. "It's not fair," he said quietly. "It's not fair." 

Hagrid's expression of a woeful puppy looked so comical behind his bushy, tangled beard that Harry might have laughed if he had seen it. "I know." He shook his head, scrubbing at a saucer. "I know. Well, buck up now," he added at length, "Bloody Dementors aren't goin' anywhere. Headmaster'll think o' somethin'. He always does." 

"Hagrid." Even to his own ears, Harry sounded strange. Hagrid jerked and turned around, causing something to shatter in the process, looking startled. "Can you keep a secret?" 

"O'course I can!" blustered the half-giant, pulling himself up to his full height. "What's this now? Er, isn't nothin' I'll have to report, is it?" 

Harry smiled tiredly, knowing full well that Hagrid would most likely be obligated to tell. And if not, well, his friend never really could keep a secret. "I hope not. I think you know all about it already, actually." 

Hagrid's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And what's that supposed t' mean?" 

Harry closed his eyes and leaned forward into his hand. When the silence became painful he spoke. "I know everything," he whispered, then laughed without meaning to. It was a thin, strained laugh. "Everything about Snape. Everything about Professor Harrison. _Everything!_" Another laugh that rose to a high pitch. "I know what it all means, and I think I'm going to go insane." 

Hagrid's face had gone from pale to white to ashen grey. He collapsed into a chair, causing the walls to tremor a bit. "Ye...ye don't mean it, 'arry. Ye can't mean it." He received no answer, not even a glance. "I...how...how did ye...do you 'ave any idea how much trouble...!" 

Even to himself, Harry sounded limp. Now that he had finally told someone, overpowering relief was washing over him. "It's not fair." 

"Now...now, Harry, you listen to me." He sounded so frightened that Harry felt sorry. "Don't you go tellin' Professor Snape. Do Ron and Hermione...?" 

"No." 

Hagrid passed a hand over his face, greatly agitated. "Merlin's beard. I don't believe this. The affair o' the American...it's dead secret, dead secret. Ye couldn't 'ave...I didn't want her comin' back in the first place, nothin' good ever came o' her, and now you know..." 

"Affair of the American?" asked Harry, glancing up. 

"That's...that's what the Ministry called it." Hagrid fidgeted in his seat and smiled weakly. "When she kept stealin' from 'ogsmeade, wore all that Muggle rubbish...started investigatin' her, they did, an' we 'ad a close call...now, how in the name of Merlin did you...?" He suddenly leaned forward. "Harry, swear t' me, swear t' me you'll never breathe a word." Silence. "Harry!" 

"Don't worry, Hagrid." His voice was impossibly bitter. "I don't have a death wish." 

**** 

"Good evening, Severus. Late, isn't it?" 

Professor Snape glanced up sharply from his desk, covered in parchments. "Headmaster." 

"May I enter?" Dumbledore's eyes crinkled gently. 

"Please." 

Dumbledore gently closed the door and sat at the end of one of the benches, watching as Snape graded the O.W.L.s with a vengeance. "Has the quill offended you recently, Severus?" 

The feather in Snape's hand froze before he laid it down and looked up. "What can I help you with, Headmaster?" 

"An honest account of your health, to begin with." 

The Potions master returned to punishing his quill. "The withdrawal is becoming more bearable," he muttered. _Scritch scratch._

"Ah. And Poppy's substitute?" 

_Scritch. _"I need it less and less." 

"Good." Dumbledore sighed. "I wish you had told me." He stared hard at Snape. "If Harry hadn't--" 

The point of the quill broke. _Scrick._ "It wasn't Potter," said Snape finally. 

"Ah, yes, my mistake," replied Dumbledore mildly. "The credit goes to Jenny. Severus?" he asked when the Potions master continued to stare oddly at him. 

"It sounds...strange," said the younger wizard. "Her name. She doesn't...look like a Jenny. It's been bothering me all year, actually." He laughed strangely, then immediately sobered when he noticed that the Headmaster was staring at him twice as oddly. "Never mind," he muttered, embarrassed and fumbling for another quill. "It must be the withdrawal." 

"Yes." Dumbledore was amazed that Snape had not immediately sensed his struggle for control. "Well, I will leave you to your grading." He rose but lingered for a moment, giving Snape the opportunity to indirectly ask for his company if he wished to. He did. 

"You know why I took it." 

The Headmaster blinked in surprise. "I would prefer to assume nothing, Severus," he said gently. 

"It made me so numb," he went on, not hearing Dumbledore, his voice trailing low. "I couldn't feel anything. Could hardly remember." The silver feather of the quill teetered against a slack finger before falling out of his grasp entirely. "It was...wonderful." 

Albus had sat down again and leaned his forehead into his hand. The dungeon room was silent. "Soulsbane is for the weak. Your soul is strong, Severus, and good, contrary to what you may believe. It would be a pity to lose it." He spoke heavily. 

"Ah, but I _am_ a weakling," said Snape coldly, only the tiniest catch of his voice betraying his pain. "I would not be in this wretched state otherwise, would I?" Dumbledore dared not raise his head lest the Potions master see his anguished expression. "I wouldn't have..." The Headmaster looked up sharply just as Snape's body gave a shudder. "Enough." The professor's clenched fists began to slowly relax. "My research into The Summoning has turned up nothing new. I may have to open _Infinite Darkness_--" 

"No; it is too dangerous." 

Snape arched an eyebrow, weak color quickly returning to his face. "Who better than a former Death Eater, Headmaster?" 

Dumbledore shook his head, standing. "The likes of _Infinite Darkness_ will be used as last resorts and only last resorts. We will find other channels." 

Severus held Dumbledore's gaze for a moment. "Very well, Headmaster." He picked up his quill and resumed grading. Albus noticed that his hand was not entirely steady. 

**** 

The atmosphere at Hogwarts gradually became more and more festive. Spring had been in the air for quite a while, and now summer was coming and with it the end of the year. Harry watched his classmates detachedly and with pangs of sadness, remembering when he had been one of them. Perhaps a tad older, slightly more aware, but still a child and subject to all the things that excited one. Now he found himself wondering why, every time the sun brightened, the heavy feeling in his chest grew darker. Every trip to Hogsmeade was tainted by cautious glances over his shoulder, every day he missed Sirius and Lupin more and more, every nightmare, once so easily forgotten, now remained crystal clear in his mind. 

Ron had become quiet and withdrawn, almost brooding. Only Hermione seemed unchanged (she had been old beyond her years in the first place). His two best friends were some comfort. Together they would maintain a delicate façade of normality, one that served as their last anchor to sanity. There were terse moments, though: Ron would go into the Headmaster's office and come back out, forbidden to say a word for his and their safety. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts became extremely uncomfortable. Harry avoided speaking to or even looking at Rysk as much as possible. There were times when, under her piercing eyes, he was certain that she could sense his confusion, his anger...his fear. Ron and Hermione were rather puzzled at his dark moods during Professor 'Harrison's' class, but Harry knew he couldn't explain to them. Could never explain to them, how their strange Muggle-like teacher had both destroyed and saved the fight against Voldemort. How every time he passed her, he shuddered, knowing what a crucial and terrifying wild card she was. Yet there were times when he found himself staring at her profile, searching in vain for the gentle hand that had held him that night in the Alps. 

To make matters worse, he had felt Rysk's gaze on him more and more often as of late. 

But as bad as Defense Against the Arts was, Potions was infinitely worse. Harry did not dare to meet Snape's eyes. More than once had nearly cried out of frustration and guilt. The desire to confess everything to the Potions master was overwhelming. 

_A tall woman stood before a gravestone. Pelting rain from the grey sky ran down her face and flowed over pale hair streaked with crimson. The rain became thicker and redder, streaming down her shoulders and arms to drip off her fingers as blood. Kneeling in front of her, facing the grave, was Snape, tears streaming down his face. The grass and dirt around him was dark with blood, but his hands and tears were clean. The world seemed to begin and end with these two figures; beyond them the air became hazy and unstable. Snape reached out and touched the tombstone, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Behind him, the woman lifted her arm and let the blood on her hands fall onto Snape's._

_He screamed, as if burned. His tears become a deep, seductive lavender. Snape eagerly lapped at them and seemed to find relief, but then the next drop of blood would splash onto his skin and he would scream again, then lick even more desperately at his tears. Harry saw that with every bead of Soulsbane, a bit of Snape's life drained away. And the blood continued to fall from the woman's fingers onto his._

_Drip._

_Incessant._

_Drip._

_Merciless._

_Drip._

_Damning._

_"STOP!" screamed Harry, trying to run forward. "STOP! IT WASN'T YOU!" He pointed desperately at Carmen Rysk. "IT WAS HER! SHE KILLED THEM! NOT YOU! _SHE _DID! NOT YOU! NOT YOU!" His throat felt rough and burned, as though his voice had become sandpaper. And Snape was dying and the blood kept dripping and the world was growing more and more hazy around the edges and Snape couldn't see Rysk and the blood was drip drip dripping and he was dying..._

"Wasn't you...wasn't you...!" 

Harry woke with a start. Professor Binns was floating half a meter above the floor, droning on and on in a voice so monotone that it drained all meaning from his words. Harry looked around. Half of the class was asleep; everyone else had long since settled their eyes onto the opposite wall and let them unfocus. Hopefully no one had noticed his twitching and muttering. Harry put a hand to his face. It came away wet. 

**** 

The only time Harry could truly forget his troubles was during Quidditch practice. He threw himself into hunting the Snitch on his broom and even practiced alone whenever he could. Flying became an escape. No one on the Gryffindor team was objecting, though: the Quidditch Cup game against Slytherin was only a week away. 

"God, Harry!" Harry fought for his balance and life as Angelina Johnson fairly knocked him off his broom, slapping him hard on the back in mid-air and yelling at the top of her lungs. "FRED!" she called down to the ground. "TIME!" 

Harry saw Fred wave up to them. "THREE-TWENTY-SEVEN!" he replied, amplifying his voice. 

Angelina whooped and raised Harry's hand into the air. The Golden Snitch fluttered helplessly against his fingers. Fifty feet above the ground beneath a perfect blue sky and having achieved his best time ever, Angelina's exhilaration was infectious. He whooped with her. "Slytherin doesn't stand a chance!" she declared. With a last grin at Harry she turned sharply and pushed her broom towards the ground. "All right, Keepers and Chasers, your drill!" 

Harry fell asleep that night with a faint smile on his face. 

But euphoria is short-lived. Harry had already endured a snapping from McGonagall, who was as edgy as any on the Gryffindor Quidditch team over the game on Friday. It was in Potions, though, that he nearly snapped. He was partnered with Draco Malfoy, but Malfoy had long ago ceased to be a problem, even though he seemed to be going farther out of his way to provoke Harry nowadays. Leaning over a cauldron of steaming antidote, Harry stopped his stirring and straightened to wipe his brow. 

Snape was staring right at him. 

Harry nearly fell over into his cauldron. He clutched at his stirring stick as the Potions master held his gaze. 

"Potter." A sharp nudge in his ribs broke the spell. "_Potter._ Now look, you've made me touch you." Malfoy sneered, wiping a perfectly clean hand on his robes. "Pass me the fish scales and the flytrap root." 

With unsteady fingers, eager for an excuse to look away from Snape, Harry grabbed the closest ingredient (the flytrap root) and reached over to hand it to Malfoy. His shaking hand betrayed him: the root fell with a _plop_ into the potion, just barely escaping Malfoy's desperate grab. "You git!" he exclaimed, "The fish scales are supposed to go in--" 

Malfoy's antidote made a strange crackling sound, much like cereal, then began to bubble over the edge and spill all over the dungeon room floor. Snape spun around, assessing the situation within seconds. "Malfoy!" he barked, waving away the mess with his wand. 

Draco looked flabbergasted. "But...but, professor--" 

"Did I not give very specific instructions as to the order of the ingredients? _Did I not?_" The Gryffindors sniggered as Malfoy continued to protest. "Are you a dim-wit first year, Mr. Malfoy? Perhaps you need to relearn how to--" 

"Sir!" 

Snape glanced over to Harry sharply. 

"It was my fault," said Harry, aware of Malfoy's coldly incredulous stare. "I dropped an ingredient into his antidote. On accident." He winced inwardly, waiting for Malfoy to take advantage of the situation, but the other boy held his peace. 

Snape seemed to hesitate. "Detention with Filch, Potter," he spat, every inch his nasty self, then turned to the rest of the class, all of whom were staring. "I believe several of you are off-task. Ten points from Gryffindor!" 

"Fuck yourself," Harry heard a Gryffindor mutter very quietly from behind him. "We'll win it all back at the game." 

**** 

"Captains, shake hands!" 

Much to the Slytherin captain's dismay, Angelina Johnson had a very, very strong grip. 

The whistle blew. 

"And they're off!" crowed Lee Jordan, barely audible above the roar of the crowd. 

It was a perfect day for the Quidditch championship game. Harry zipped over the stands on his Firebolt, searching for a glint of gold among the swooping and diving red and green robes. His stomach was in knots. 

"And Captain Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle--dives under Adrian Pucey--I DON'T BELIEVE IT! A TOPSY-TURVY!" 

Harry gaped for a moment, watching as Angelina twisted upside down twice on her broom--once to avoid Pucey and the second to dodge a Bludger. The Gryffindors were already on their feet and screaming. 

"It's never happened before! Not in this school! You've set a record, Ange--" 

"_Jordan!_" snapped McGonagall. 

"Sorry, professor. Now she's passed clean to Katie Bell--looking a little dazed at herself, actually--Bell dodges a Bludger, she's going to--no! Keeper Bletchley saves it!" 

A groan went up from the Gryffindors. 

"Quaffle taken by Pucey--passes Johnson--stolen by Alicia Spinnet! She's flying like the devil--around Chaser Vently--feints to the left--Bletchley misses! GRYFFINDORS SCORE!" 

Down in the stands, Hermione and Ron were on their feet and cheering with the rest of their house. Harry recognized them, in the front row as they always were, and couldn't help but smile. He made a circuit of the field, searching for the Golden Snitch, determined to give his friends a game to remember. 

Directly opposite and slightly below him, Draco Malfoy was searching for the Snitch as well. 

"Score is 10-0, Gryffindors leading--now Slytherin has possession, Vently has the Quaffle--a pass to Bryant--to Pucey--looks like they've got a strategy going on here--back to Bryant--he's charging right at the goal posts--OH!" 

A Bludger had come flying out of no where and hit Slytherin Chaser Nathan Bryant directly in the stomach. 

"That must have _hurt!_" yelled Jordan gleefully, failing miserably at sympathy. "Nice aim on Fred Weasley's part! Bryant's winded--smart enough to pass to Ventley--she's flying, Chaser Bell is trying to catch up...!" 

Harry saw Ventley below him, pushing her broom toward the Gryffindor goal posts. Katie was behind her, trying to draw level. Harry pushed his Firebolt down into a mad dive right towards Ventley. The Slytherin Chaser never saw him until it was almost too late. With a scream she swerved to the side, nearly dropping the Quaffle. Harry pulled up just in time as Katie Bell whizzed past Ventley, grabbing the Quaffle as she went by. 

Down in the stands, Hagrid had already dropped all pretense of neutrality and was clapping and hooting for Harry. 

"BRILLIANT, HARRY POTTER, BRILLIANT!" screamed Jordan. The entire crowd was on their feet; the Slytherins booing and the Gryffindors screaming. "Potter was the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history for a reason! Look at that flying! Just look at that--" 

"Jordan, your job is to cover the _game!_" 

"Right, right, professor--Bell in posession--she's taking heavy Bludger fire; help her, George...! Clears the Bludgers--at the goal posts--SCORE!" 

Katie punched the air, glancing up at Harry and shouting her thanks. Within another minute, though, Slytherin had scored. 

"20-10 Gryffindor, Bell with the Quaffle--stolen by Bryant! Bryant zooming like a rocket, right past Spinnet--damn, that Bludger nearly got him--" 

"JORDAN!" 

"Won't happen again, promise--Angelina!" 

Angelina Johnson had flown straight at Bryant and slammed into him, nearly knocking the Slytherin Chaser off his broom. A groan went up from the Gryffindor crowd as Hooch shot into the air. "Foul!" she snapped. "Penalty shot for Slytherin." 

"All right, Slytherin has a penalty shot--no problem, no problem, that's Keeper Zachary Robinson in front of the posts, a good find by Johnson--Bryant takes the shot--Zach, what are you doing?!" 

Zachary, a solid fourth year, had jerked and pulled up short, allowing the the Quaffle to blaze right past him. Cheers and jeers filled the air, but the Slytherins quickly quieted when everyone else caught sight of the flicker of gold that had zipped past Zachary's face. 

"Harry!" shouted Fred, waving frantically, "Go, go, go!" 

Harry was already halfway across the field, becoming a red blur to the spectators below. The wind screamed in his ears and his eyes watered as he bent low over his Firebolt. Everything ceased to exist except for the Golden Snitch, zipping this way and that. He was vaguely aware of George and Fred beating the Bludgers away from him. The Snitch took a sudden dive, and Harry followed it, nearly perpendicular to the ground. 

"Oh, my God," whispered Hermione, her fingers digging into Ron's arm. 

"Come on, Harry!" screamed Ron. "COME ON!" 

"There it is, there it is, Potter's after it...! Oh God, it's going to slam into the ground, pull up Harry, PULL UP!" 

Malfoy was after the Snitch as well, but he was too high above Harry. Harry reached out a hand...another second, and it would be his... 

With a sharp twist of its wings the Golden Snitch changed direction, rocketing straight up into the sky. Terror ripped through Harry as he pulled back on the broom for his life. His feet skimmed the grass as he pulled up. 

"It's heading up! It's heading straight for Malfoy!" 

Malfoy grinned in triumph, pushing his broom on as the Snitch came shooting up to his altitude. Harry was straining his Firebolt for all it was worth, trying to cut up under his opponent and grab the prize. Less than two feet under Malfoy, he saw it would be too late: the other boy's fingers were already closing around the golden ball... 

"Oh my BLOODY GOD!!" 

A thunder of noise erupted from the stands, rending the air apart. Harry had jumped straight off his broom, knocked Malfoy's hand aside, and grabbed the Snitch. His Firebolt began falling out of the sky. 

And Harry, a hundred feet in the air, began plummeting to the ground. 

Unmatched fear flowed through Harry as he felt himself fall, the grass hurtling up to meet him. In his right hand the Snitch fluttered helplessly. He clutched it instinctively to his chest, praying that his death would be quick. In another moment, he would hit the ground... 

Then, suddenly, he stopped. The fabric of his robes cut into his throat, making him gag. His head jerked; through blurry vision he saw his glasses fall the remaining two meters to the field and shatter. 

"Hang on, Potter," gasped Malfoy, struggling to keep his grip on Harry and steady his broom at the same time. Slowly, slowly, they floated down to the ground. Malfoy released him and Harry collapsed, too grateful to be alive to move. There was no sound from any student or teacher; even Lee Jordan was silent. The only noise to be heard was the slight rustle of the breeze. At length Harry managed to steady his breathing and stagger to his feet. He raised the Snitch high into the air. The sun glinted off of it. 

"HE'S ALIVE!" shrieked Lee Jordan with a catch to his voice. "He's alive!" Beside him, McGonagall had lost all composure and was waving her crooked hat in the air. Sitting next to her was Snape. He sat stock still, trembling, his face drained of all color. "HE'S ALIVE! AND GRYFFINDOR TAKES THE QUIDDITCH CUP, 170 TO 20!" 

The stadium was a chaotic blur of noise and movement to Harry. He squinted, trying to make sense of things. A heavy object slammed into him. He realized a moment later that it was the rest of his team. Tears that weren't his own wet his face and neck. "Harry," he heard Angelina sob in a bizarre mix of happiness and horror, "never do that again, never never never...!" 

A second later Hermione and Ron broke through the crowd surrounding him. Harry thought that Hermione had a bleeding cut on her cheek--apparently she had been reckless jumping down into the field--but then he was being lifted into the air on the shoulders of his teammates. 

Just as the headiness of the moment was beginning to sink though, Harry saw Draco Malfoy walking silently off the field with his team. He blinked, slowly, then tried to get back down to the ground. "Wait!" he shouted after Malfoy, but he didn't hear him. 


	30. Hasty Departure

_*ducks as several people try to kill her*_

_Gah! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Real life interfered. But, um, this one's long, right? Lots of, um, fun knife-twisting for some characters. And, yeah, I lied. I just had to split the ending up into two chapters. Or three. *grins sheepishly* We'll see. So, yep, more coming. Muahahaha! You can't escape this fic! ;)_

_Enjoy!_   
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

"And this, Harry Potter, is how to break your trachea." 

Harry swallowed, painfully. The anger in Madam Pomfrey's voice made him wonder if he was going to get out of this ward alive. He tried to lower his chin and found it still tipped firmly upwards by a strong hand. 

"Do you have any idea how many ways you could have been killed?" Pomfrey was making an obvious effort to keep her voice at a pitch where humans could hear it. "And it's not just you, young man, Madam Hooch is most likely getting into trouble for this...jumping off a broom, whatever possessed you to--" 

"Let's not end Mr. Potter's life now, Poppy." Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Madam Pomfrey released him with a start. The ceiling lights had been starting to hurt his eyes. Dumbledore smiled benignly at them as he stepped into the ward and closed the door behind him. "How are you feeling, Harry?" 

"Fine, sir," replied Harry. He unconsciously reached a hand up to his throat and winced. He glanced apprehensively at Pomfrey, who still looked very cross. "Can I go now?" 

Dumbledore stared at him a heartbeat longer than normal, sensing the numb way Harry spoke. "If Madam Pomfrey deems you fit," he said mildly, looking to the nurse. Pomfrey's lips thinned into a severe line. 

"He only has a bruise across his throat, which is a miracle I can't fathom, because at the speed he was falling that jerk should have snapped his windpipe, Headmaster." She sniffed. "But he's breathing normally. It's best to let it heal on its own." 

"Harry?" 

Harry's jerked his head up; he instantly regretted it. "Yeah." He blinked and gave a small shake of the head, having tuned Pomfrey out. "Er, yes, sir. I'll be all right." 

"Good, good. Go on and celebrate." The Headmaster sounded vaguely distracted and impatient, and he disappeared as soon as the words were out of his mouth. 

After Madam Pomfrey had finished chiding him, softening as she went, and completed her notes on his injury, Harry stood from the bed, still in his crimson Quidditch robes, and walked out without a word. He could feel the nurse's eyes on him and knew what she was thinking: hardly befitting of a Seeker whose team had just won the Quidditch cup. Even if he had nearly died in the process. 

Out in the hall, Harry allowed himself to lean back against the wall and hunch his shoulders, hugging himself. _Don't care if I almost got killed_, he thought. _It's who saved me._

**** 

A lively celebration greeted Harry as he stepped through the hole behind the Fat Lady. "There he is!" he heard several voices crow, and then numerous hands pulled him into the center of the packed common room. Two heavy arms slung over his shoulders: Fred and George. 

"Here's the Seeker!" shouted one of the twins. "Here's the best bloody damn Seeker in the world!" Before long nearly the entire Gryffindor House surrounded Harry. A mug of butterbeer (no doubt from the supply Fred and George had built up over the course of the year) was pushed into his hands and several toasts shouted out. 

A camera flashed. Harry blinked, dazed, and looked about for the culprit. He caught sight of Colin Creevy poking his had around Katie Bell's back. "Sorry," he smiled sheepishly, "my cousin in Ireland wants a picture." 

Harry restrained a groan. He lifted the mug to his lips. "Must run in the family," he heard George mutter. He began laughing into his drink and at the same time started as his tongue was nearly scalded. 

"Whoa, careful." George reached out and steadied the cup. "We heated it up a bit for you. Thought it might be good for your throat." 

Harry nodded gratefully and took a slow sip, finding that the warm glide did indeed soothe his throat. He didn't have much time to enjoy it, though, because at that moment Angelina Johnson came running down from the girls' dorm and spotted them. "Harry!" she cried, pushing across the common room. Harry lowered his butterbeer so as not to spill it as his captain grabbed his shoulders. "You are a Goddamn _genius._" She grinned, still ecstatic. "But you had me scared to death...what'd Pomfrey say? Are you all right? Merlin...!" 

"I'm all right," croaked Harry as Angelina bent down to peer under his chin. Her eyes widened at the dark, sickly bruise that ran like a gash across his throat. "Really. It's just a bit tender." 

"Fine way for Malfoy to catch you," sneered a voice. A strange, unnerving feeling overcame Harry as he turned around and saw Neville Longbottom at his shoulder. "Merlin, that must have hurt," he went on softly, the derision gone in an instant and replaced by the boy Harry knew. He stared at Neville, still alarmed. It suddenly struck him how the other boy's round face had thinned to the point of being angular. 

"Not as much as it would have if Malfoy hadn't caught me at all," he replied neutrally. Neville looked uncomfortable and seemed about to say something, but Rosie Hether suddenly appeared out of nowhere and touched his back. 

"Neville," she said softly. He whirled as though burned. Rosie tilted her head towards an unoccupied corner of the room, her expression terse. She didn't seem to notice when Harry smiled reflexively at her. They walked away together without another word. 

"What's with them?" asked Alicia, staring after the two strangely. Harry shrugged, trying to ignore his own feelings of unease. 

"Hey, where's Ron?" 

At that moment Ron and Hermione came through the Fat Lady. Both were as pale as death, and just as grim. A momentary hush fell over the common room as they made their way to the center. "Fred, George." Exchanging a glance, the twins went to their brother. Harry followed on their heels, holding his butterbeer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione ushering Ginny up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. 

"What's going on?" he demanded quietly, the same question being murmured behind them as they left the common room. 

"Ron?" chorused Fred and George. 

Ron said nothing until they reached the empty room of beds. Then he turned around and stared at them for a moment. "Pack up," he told his brothers. 

"What?" snapped one of the twins at length. 

"We're leaving," said Ron, walking to the chest at the foot of his bed and beginning to rearrange its contents. George, Fred, and Harry stared at him incredulously as he continued. "Dumbledore wants us out, now. We're being taken into hiding." 

"What, with Mum and Dad?" George's voice was vaguely eager. 

"No. We're not allowed to know where they are." 

"Then where the bloody hell are we gong?!" hissed Fred. He sounded nervous, even frightened. 

"I don't know." 

"When do we--" 

Ron shot to his feet and spun around. "_Tonight!_" Even his lips were white. "Move it!" 

After a frozen moment, both twins silently went to their beds and began gathering their belongings. Harry walked up beside Ron and helped him pack without a word. Once, his friend's shaking fingers dropped a bag of what remained of their kitchen robberies. Harry caught it and placed another hand on Ron's back, which was tense and tremoring. Ron inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry." 

Harry could barely catch his words, they were murmured so quietly. "For what?" he asked, nonplussed. 

"What I did last year." Ron laughed a soft laugh. "The Triwizard Tournament. I wanted to be like you. I wanted to be in danger and be special for it and everything." He took a shuddering breath, staring down at the bed. "How do you deal with it? You must be in hell every day." 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, stuffing the candy bag into a knapsack and throwing it into the trunk. "I..." He searched for words that would help. "I don't know." He sighed when he still felt Ron waiting. "Just live your life, for God's sake. Just live your life." 

"Right." Ron tried to grin. "Live my life with You-Know-Who breathing down my--" 

"_Voldemort!_" hissed Harry vehemently. When Ron winced he repeated, "Voldemort. You call him Voldemort, Ron." 

"Ron, we're ready," called George quietly. 

Ron closed his eyes. "Right," he whispered, "Vol...Voldemort." He looked up at the twins, standing beside their trunks, so quickly packed, and looking as grim as their younger brother. It had never struck Harry just how strong the Weasley family could be. "Okay, we're leaving by Floo powder. Wait for Ginny; Hermione'll bring her up." 

Fred waved his trunk through the air to land in front of the fireplace. "What exactly did Dumbledore say, Ronnie? Where are we _going_?" he demanded with an edge to his voice. 

"I'll tell you later. We'll be met by someone we trust; that's all I know. The powder's Charmed somehow to respond to my name." 

"Your name? Why _your_ name? _We're_ the eldest ones here." George smiled weakly at Fred's attempt at a joke. 

Harry turned when he heard noise on the stairs behind them. Ginny was climbing them, holding her trunk out before her with her wand. Harry saw that the chest jerked unsteadily in the air, a result of Ginny's shaking hand. The youngest Weasley child raised her head and stared at Ron, not sparing Harry a second glance. "Is it Percy?" Hermione came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't seem to notice. 

"Get in front of the fireplace," he told her. Ginny held him with her eyes a moment longer, and Ron seemed just about to drop his, but was saved when she obeyed. Hermione came forward and Harry stepped back out of respect he had never felt for his friends as a couple before. They spoke with heads bowed together for a moment. When Ron seemed about to turn away Hermione reached out and pulled him into an embrace. He bowed his head into his hair, and even though he was taller, it was clear that she was the one holding him. After a minute he stepped back. 

"Come on." 

One of the twins waved a wand and lit a fire. Ron reached into his robes and fumbled with a packet of Floo powder, hands unsteady. He finally ripped it open by the teeth and tossed the whole lot into the flames, which turned bright green instantly. There was a hesitation. Harry felt faint as he saw them standing in the green light, with their pale skin glowing and looking like ghosts. Then George stepped forward with his belongings. 

"Ronald Weasley." 

He disappeared. Fred followed suit, but not before stopping and looking at Hermione, then Harry. He smiled weakly. "Good game, Harry." 

Harry nodded dumbly. Before he could force words from his throat, Fred was gone. 

Ginny stared at the fire for several long moments before fixing them with her gaze. Harry felt a very strange chill run up his back: for one second, he saw an older witch with blonde hair in Ginny's place. Then she picked up her trunk walked into the fireplace. 

"Ronald Weasley." 

Suddenly, only Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in the dormitory. Harry's heart constricted as he realized that this may be the last time the three of them were together again. He stumbled forward. "Ron..." 

His best friend didn't seem to hear him; instead he grabbed Hermione and kissed her deeply without shame. Harry swallowed (and the way it hurt had nothing to do with his bruise) as the thought struck him that the three of them, even now, were not together. Not the way they had been when they were eleven. 

They drew away abruptly. Ron looked over Hermione's head at him. "All right there, Harry?" he asked hoarsely. He looked as though he longed to say more, but a telltale shine had come into his eyes. He swiped at them and stepped into the fire, not waiting for an answer. 

"Ronald Weasley." 

The flames consumed him. After what seemed an eternity the fire began to give off natural light once again, illuminating the room and providing no proof the surreal scene had ever happened. Harry sank down onto a bed before his legs gave way. If Hermione was crying, she was doing so silently. He dropped his head into his hands and tried to convince himself that it was all a dream while he still could. He had never truly wept since Pettigrew's death in the mountains, and for some reason he didn't want to start now. Even for Ron. 

"Come on, Harry." Harry looked up with a start: the voice was unfamiliar, but he found himself staring into Hermione's face. "Get some rest. I'll take care of everything." She sounded warm and steady and competent, and suddenly his other best friend of five years looked unfamiliar, as well. Feeling dazed and utterly drained, Harry allowed her to place a hand under his elbow and guide him into bed. 

"Wait," he said, resisting at the last moment. "What happened?" 

"Go to sleep, Harry." 

"Tell me what happened." 

Hermione's lower lip trembled for just a moment, but when she saw that Harry was trembling even more, she reached out and took his hand. "I can't tell you everything," she explained quietly, sounding older with each word, "because I don't know everything. But there was a plot against Ron's life. Dumbledore stopped it in time, but Ron's family has to be moved to somewhere safer." 

"What?" hissed Harry. "What's safer than Hogwarts?" 

Hermione sighed. Her breath was unsteady. "Sirius got in, didn't he?" 

Horror overtook Harry for a split second: had there been a betrayal within the Order? The blood drained from his face. 

Hermione's brow knitted. "Harry? You're pale." 

He shook his head. Hermione did not know about the Order of the Phoenix, and could not be allowed to. He licked his lips. "Who was it?" he asked faintly. 

"I don't know. Dumbledore wouldn't let me hear all of it." Hermione almost looked like she was about to cry, then suddenly stood and said with forced briskness, "We'll talk about it later. It's too late right now. Go to sleep, Harry." She softened and pushed him back into the mattress. Harry let her, hazily realizing that in a situation like this, Hermione needed to feel she was in control of at least _something._ She went so far as to tuck him in. "Good night," she said, kissing him on the forehead. A sudden pain shot through Harry's heart as he wondered if this was how his own mother might have put him to bed. 

He watched Hermione as she left. The only sign of any shakiness was her hand on her breast: she was fingering the locket Ron had given her. 

He rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. Distantly, he heard clamoring voices in the common room, demands to know what was going on. After a few minutes they fell abruptly silent. Despite the heat of summer nights, Harry ordered the hangings of his bed to close. He never noticed how he had not used his wand. 

Seconds or hours later, many soft footsteps padded up the stairs. Painstakingly quiet movements and whispered admonishments to be quiet were lost on Harry's ears. He lay in the darkness, thinking and trapped in his own helplessness. The sense of dread that made breathing difficult was strange. As Harry turned what had happened over and over again in his mind, he realized that the Weasley family had simply gone into hiding. No one had died. 

_But they have. Hermione's gone; I don't know her any more. She's been gone, and I never knew it 'till now. And Peter's died. For me. Mum and Dad...Snape's parents...oh, God. Cedric. Malfoy's dad. Malfoy. He saved me. He saved me. Why did he save me? I hate him. I hate him. I want to hate him._

For one moment, Harry understood why Snape had never been able to forgive James Potter for saving his life. Then, finally, it all became to much, and he began to cry in silence. This time, Rysk wasn't there to hold him. 

**** 

Potions was an ordeal. Harry and Hermione walked in together, barely awake or aware of their surroundings, mindless of the whispers and curious glances thrown in their direction. Last night still seemed like a horrible, half-formed nightmare. Several Gryffindors tried to stop them and hiss questions. The Slytherins simply hissed. 

The class became silent when Snape glanced up sharply from his desk. His black eyes lingered on Harry and Hermione for a heartbeat before he went back to whatever he was doing. They sat down mechanically. Harry saw that Hermione's face was tired and drawn. 

He closed his eyes when he saw Snape put down his quill after nearly ten minutes of silence. He doubted he could even stand to look at the Potions master today, given the sleepless, tortured night he had spent just hours ago. Snape's voice seemed to come from far away amid a dry rustle of parchments. "I have completed grading the Potions section of your O.W.Ls," he announced coldly. "Your scores will be delivered by owl post in the summer. I'm sure," he sneered, "you will be pleased to hear that this class had the highest composite score. Pitiful as that may be." 

Beside Harry, Hermione stiffened, becoming alarmed even through her numbness. "Don't worry," he murmured, "You did fine." 

"Thanks," she replied dully, without a trace of the calm energy she had exuded last night. She reached up again to touch the heart hanging from the chain about her neck. Harry was appalled at how lifeless they both sounded, but hadn't the energy to truly care. 

"_Now_." The murmuring ceased as suddenly as it had begun. "I am well aware that the summer heat has addled your minds. More so than usual. But unless you wish you leave this year with a failing grade, I suggest you harbor no illusions about maintaining your effort in this class." 

The door opened just then with a heavy scraping sound. All eyes turned to the back of the class, eager to see what poor student would be at the receiving end of Snape's wrath today. Draco Malfoy stepped in and made his way to a seat as quietly as he could. And the Slytherin hissing began again. 

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for being punctual." Snape hesitated, loathe to deduct any points from his House, especially after the Quidditch game. "Ten points from Slytherin. Be _quiet_," he snapped at the rest of the students. 

Malfoy flinched but said nothing as he sat down. Harry saw that he was removed from his usual friends and stiffened when he felt more than a flicker of pity for him, deep-felt and utterly unnatural. 

_Where the hell had that come from?_ he thought frantically. He stared the boy who had saved his life and suddenly broke into a cold sweat. 

_Saved my life. Oh, God._

"Get our your cauldrons and follow the directions carefully..." 

The class passed too slowly. Harry was grateful that Snape didn't stare at him this time; at least, he didn't catching staring. When at last they were dismissed, Harry took his time packing up, watching Malfoy trying to finish up his potion. 

"You'll be late," said Hermione as she slung her bag over her back. 

"I'll catch up." 

Hermione looked at him sidelong, but shook her head, too weary to argue, and left. Harry raised his head as he pushed he collapsed his cauldron and shoved it into his back. The dungeon room was empty--Snape must have stepped into the adjoining storage room--except for him and Malfoy, who was walking as quickly as he could for the door. 

"Hey," called Harry softly. "Malfoy!" 

Malfoy stopped with his hand on the door. "What do you want, Potter?" he drawled without turning around. Harry quickly shouldered his bag and trotted up to him. He stared at Malfoy's back, the pride he had so firmly shelved some time during the class breaking free and fighting like a terrible clawed thing. His words were dangerously reluctant. 

"No...no one's been giving you a hard time, have they?" 

Malfoy pivoted around and raised an eyebrow. "What's it to you?" he sneered. "If you're looking to form a club of gits who hate me--" 

"I haven't made any bloody MALFOY STINKS badges, have I?" he snapped. An instant later he closed his eyes in exasperation at himself. "Wait," he said heavily as Malfoy began to turn his back. He sighed and held out his hand, looking away sullenly. "I'm sorry." Mumbled. "I wanted to say thanks." 

When half a minute of silence had passed Harry steeled himself to look up into Malfoy's face. "Really." He was pleased to hear that his voice was steady. "Thank you. You saved my life." 

Malfoy's gaze went to his outstretched hand before he deliberately ignored it. "You're welcome, Potter," he said coldly, warily. 

Harry dropped his hand. "Did you know?" he blurted out. Malfoy stared at him oddly. 

"What?" 

"You know...what happens when you--" 

Malfoy suddenly stiffened, his eyes fixed beyond Harry's shoulder. He turned to see Snape standing on the threshold of the storage room, regarding them inscrutably. Behind Harry, the door scraped open and slammed shut. Malfoy was gone. 

"Touching, Potter." There was no derision in the Potions master's voice, but nor was there kindness. "I must admit, I never thought such humility possible of you." 

Harry barely noticed the barb. Upon seeing Snape the ridiculous but familiar urge to flee had come over him, but something held him back. There was a strange look in the professor's eyes, something almost like jealousy. Unsure of how to answer, he shifted his bag and hastened to go. 

"Wait." Snape pulled out a scrap of parchment and quill. "I'll write you a pass to next class." 

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, turning about warily. 

"What is it?" 

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," he replied, approaching the front of the room in spite of himself. The feather of the quill paused. 

"Professor Harrison's class." 

"Yeah." He hoped that his voice betrayed no discomfort. To his relief, Snape said nothing more. He finished signing his name and handed the pass to Harry. 

"That was an unspeakably idiotic stunt you pulled yesterday." 

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know what I was thinking," he mumbled, avoiding the professor's gaze. 

"You weren't," he snapped, then, less harshly, "How is your neck?" 

"Fine." Harry tilted his chin back to let him see the bruise, knowing that the more cooperative he was, the sooner he could leave. 

He also knew that from here on out he would oblige the Potions master in almost any way he could, out of pure guilt and pity. 

"My God, Potter." Harry was surprised to see his cold face slightly shaken. In a flash he remembered his first year: a bucking broom, Quirrell's hex, Snape desperately chanting the words of a counter-charm. He cringed inwardly. 

"I'm all right," he reassured him hastily. Snape was quick to mask his concern. 

"Of course you are. You realize you have far too many lives." 

Harry managed a weak parting smile and began walking away. 

"Potter." He froze and glanced over his shoulder. "Thanking Malfoy was the first sensible thing you've done this year." Harry pivoted completely around. There was that expression again: bitter and rueful and envious. 

_"Then your father did something Snape could never forgive. He saved his life."_

Harry stared at the Potions master longer than he should have. "I did what you couldn't," he said quietly. Snape's long fingers clenched, making it clear that the same thought had been running through his mind. Harry closed his eyes, bracing himself. "But while I'm at it, thank you." 

Snape stared at him. 

"I wouldn't have lasted on that broom if you hadn't fought Quirrell." 

He pulled the door open and left. 

**** 

When Harry finally reached Professor 'Harrison's' classroom, the period was halfway over. Ron had often grumbled at how Defense Against the Dark Arts was as far way as possible from the dungeons. Harry smiled bitterly and shivered at the same time. If only he had known. If only _anyone_ had known. 

Sticking his head into the classroom, Harry saw that Rysk had done away with all desks and chairs. He had to duck a hex as he stepped into the room, which was filled only with students throwing curses at each other. Standing at where her desk usually was was Rysk. Despite the magic that shielded the castle from the summer heat she had shed her robes, which lay on the floor in a grey pile, and sported a white tee and loose running pants, the netted kind. Even after sitting in her class for a year, Harry still had to pause and remind himself that she was _not_ a Muggle who had wandered in from some gymnasium. 

Of course, he honestly wished that she were. Knowing exactly _what_ she was turned his stomach. 

He carefully made his way past the duelling students to her. She took the pass from him and skimmed it, then raised an eyebrow. Her eyes fell on him like daggers, but much to his relief, she made no comment, instead raising her head and scanning the room. "Malfoy!" Draco looked over from where he had been working with Crabbe and Goyle. "Found you a partner." Her tone brooked no tone for argument. Malfoy's face was closed as he approached them. 

"Give me your wand." 

Harry turned back around. "What?" 

Professor 'Harrison' held out her hand. He uncertainly handed it to her. As he watched, she began to murmur beneath her breath and his wand began to tremor in her palm. "Here," she said carelessly, tossing it back. She glanced at Malfoy, who now stood beside Harry. "Fill him in and get to work." 

She turned away indifferently, but not before Harry saw her glance at his throat. 

"Come on," said Malfoy flatly, leading him into a corner of the room. 

"What did she just do to my wand?" demanded Harry, holding it out at arm's length as though it might attack him. 

"Charmed it. We can't use anything but _Expelliarmus_ and _Colorus_." Malfoy sounded vaguely annoyed at the idea. 

"_Colorus?_" 

"They represent hexes." 

"Oh." 

Without warning, Malfoy pointed his wand at him. "_Expelliarmus!_" Caught off guard, Harry could do nothing as his wand flew into Malfoy's free hand. His nemesis smirked. "See what I mean? _Colo--_" 

Feeling foolish but not knowing what else to do, Harry twisted out of the way as best he could. A few dots of bright pink appeared on his robes, the spell barely grazing him. Nevertheless, Malfoy sounded viciously triumphant. "My point," he said quietly. 

Harry barely noticed. His sudden jerk had brought him to face Rysk. Her eyes were on him in cool appraisal. He almost missed his wand when Malfoy threw it back at him. "New round." 

They resumed, clumsy and hesitant. Within minutes they were both covered in splotches of color. "Hang on," gasped Harry, blocking a splot of green. The duelling had become intense, and his robes had started to stick to his skin. Malfoy didn't hear him. He seemed hellbent on hitting Harry with a good hex. Harry raised his head for a split second and saw that they had almost half the class's attention, particularly the Slytherins. "Malfoy, hang on," he tried again, "time out--" 

"_Expelliarmus._" 

Malfoy had timed the Disarming Curse so that Harry's wand flew in the opposite direction he was moving. A bolt of competitiveness drove Harry to dive for it. "_Accio_ wand!" he hissed as soon as he felt his fingers close around it. His momentum was too great: he was forced to roll head over heels. Pain flashed in his shoulder. He caught a glance of Malfoy's leg as the world turned rightside-up again and aimed wildly. "_Colorus!_" 

It was luck, and the blotch of color seemed to reflect that: yellow with turquoise polka dots. Harry propped himself up on his elbows, wincing as his shoulder blade moved. "My point," he said breathlessly, looking up at Malfoy. 

The other boy's jaw worked for a moment. Then he reached down with one hand carelessly, almost like he was being forced to do a disdainful chore. But Harry knew. If Malfoy hadn't realized it before, he did now. 

_"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."_

But things were different now. The flicker of fear in Malfoy's eyes was reflected in Harry's as well. They were bonded by magic in its deepest form. 

He reached out and took Malfoy's hand, allowing him to pull him to his feet. Over the other's shoulder, he saw Rysk, watching them. She shifted, pulling out her wand and calling to the rest of the class. "Stop! That's enough for today. Bring your wands up so you can clean yourselves up." Still watching them. 

Harry shivered: she knew, too. 

**** 

"I'd say we're in deep, deep trouble, Albus." 

"What happened?" Dumbledore leaned forward slightly in his chair, regarding the face of Sirius Black calmly over his half-moon spectacles. Black continued to pace agitatedly before the other man. 

"What happened is that _nothing _is happening!" he snapped, his nerves obviously frayed. "Either we missed the rite completely and whenever Voldemort says..." Sirius's face spasmed. "Whenever he says 'kiss', every Dementor on the face of this earth kisses, or there _is_ no rite, in which case we're on a wild goose chase." 

"Sirius, I must ask that you calm yourself." 

"Albus, I must ask that you realize that we're starting to _mutter_ and _grumble_ and that I don't want to have to deal with--" 

"For gods' sake, Black." A new voice slashed the air of the office. Dumbledore did not seem surprised at Rysk's silent entrance, but Sirius froze and stared at the witch as she walked up beside the Headmaster's chair. "Chill." 

Sirius seemed took several deep breaths, instantly obeying. "All right, all right. We're spread thin in Ireland. There's been no bloody sign of any Death Eaters--" 

"Maybe Lupin ate them all," muttered Rysk, too quietly for the other two to hear. 

"--but we're monitoring where we saw them gathering for the Initiation last, and then three more sites that could be used for ancient rituals. And they're all on opposite ends of the Godforsaken island." 

"Nothing?" said Rysk coolly. 

"Nothing." Black avoided Professor 'Harrison's' eyes as he added, "It could all be a ruse. Focus all of our attention in one country while he takes another." 

"It could be," agreed Dumbledore neutrally. 

"Quite possibly planning something back here." 

"That's what the Longbottoms are for," Rysk reminded him. 

"They're only two," protested Black. 

"They're sane, now, and they're fucking pissed like you won't believe," she retorted. 

"Carmen, Carmen, your language, please." Dumbledore shot her a warning look. He looked back to Black. "She is correct, though, Sirius. It was Frank and Amanda who first alerted us to a plot against Ron's life." 

"Ron? Ron Weasley?" Sirius paused in his pacing to stare at them incredulously. "By who?" 

At that moment the door to the office opened, not nearly as silently as Rysk's entrance. Harry Potter stood on the threshold. Dumbledore swivelled his chair about and stood, but before he could say anything the boy's eyes had lit up in disbelief. "Sirius!" he cried, remembering just in time to muffle his exclamation. He ran forward toward his godfather but stopped short instead of hugging him. "What are you doing here?!" 

The door closed with a glance from Rysk. Black glanced uneasily at her before stepping forward and pulling Harry into a quick embrace. "Staying in touch with jolly old England," he said with a watery smile. "Congratulations on your game." 

"Thanks," replied Harry, trying to avoid his godfather's ruffling of his hair. He backed away and stared at Sirius. He was still too thin, his face was still too haunted and there were deep bags beneath his eyes. But he was alive. Suddenly, he registered Rysk's presence in the room. His throat went dry. He wanted to catch Sirius's gaze and tilt his head at the strange witch to show that he hadn't breathed a word, but he dared not try. However, he hazarded a glance at her as he asked, "What's going on?" Her cold face betrayed nothing. 

"You are here partially at Sirius's behest," replied Dumbledore. Harry glanced at his godfather. "Of course, I'm sure you want to know about Ron--" 

"How much do you know already, Potter?" There was a bite of impatience to Rysk's voice. 

"Everything Hermione does," he answered, a bit defiantly. He saw the glance that was exchanged between Rysk and Dumbledore, but missed Sirius's flinch. "Who's trying to kill Ron?" 

Dumbledore sighed. "We don't rightly know yet, Harry--" 

"For Christ's sake!" Rysk's tone was that of one who had been dealing with idiots all day. "It's Fudge, and you know it!" 

"We've no proof of that, Carmen," said Dumbledore in a steely voice, forgetting himself and addressing Professor 'Harrison' by her first name in front of Harry. "Only that corrupt sections of the Ministry may have been involved." 

"Corrupt sections of the Ministry," she repeated derisively. "You mean, the entire half of the Ministry capable of _being_ involved in anything?" 

"Look, I don't understand why they were after Ron, whoever they were," broke in Harry. 

The Headmaster sighed. "Thank you, Harry. We need to stay on topic. There is much to discuss, but as to your question...I'm afraid that is much of a mystery as well. My first instinct is that Ron's murder would be the starting point for a conspiracy of some kind. He is not testifying in Percy's trial at all, so I can see no reason to target him as a witness. Perhaps to weaken the Weasley family's morale." 

"Why Weasley, though?" interjected Rysk. "His sister would have been easier, if they wanted to kill someone." 

Harry glared at Rysk without thinking, not liking the way she said that. He stole another glance at Sirius, who hadn't said a word. His godfather was staring at Rysk, and there was a strange expression on his face, something that Harry couldn't quite place, but it was all the more frightening for it. It almost seemed as though Sirius was struggling with some inner conflict. Harry stiffened, feeling an irrational bolt of fear go through him. 

"How could anyone get to Ron while he was here, in Hogwarts?" he demanded, trying to rein in his frustration and failing. "How--how could Fudge even _try_...? And what are we going to do about Percy? 

"Wish we knew," muttered Sirius. 

"I'm afraid Sirius is correct. You know of what Voldemort is most likely attempting?" 

"Yes." 

"Then, at the moment, all our energies are being focused on preventing The Summoning from being carried out. Any plans beyond that are vague. Any plans beyond that are moot if we fail," he added grimly. 

Rysk arched an eyebrow and seemed about to say something, but held her peace. 

Harry closed his eyes and let out a noisy sigh of anger. It took an effort not to swear in front of all three adults. Instead he settled for an incoherent, infuriated sound. "We are getting _no where_," he ground out under his breath. 

"In any case, Harry, you were called up here for several pieces of advice." Dumbledore looked at him with solemn blue eyes. "Do not use any magic of any sort over the summer. Given the Ministry's current state and your status as a witness, it would not be wise to draw any kind of attention. In your letters to your friends, mention _nothing_ of any importance. If you are unsure, then leave it out." 

"Why do I have to stay with my relatives?" he said quickly, nettled at the very mention of the Dursleys. 

"For your protection, Harry." 

"The Dursleys would just as soon turn me over to Voldemort." 

"What do you mean?" asked Rysk, sounding less detached than usual. 

"They hate me." Harry found that even in the face of Dumbledore's admonishing stare, he suddenly could not stop himself. "They've hated me since they saw me. They'd kill me themselves if they thought they could get away with it." 

"Those are very harsh words," said the Headmaster sternly. 

"They're _true._" Sirius was staring at him in open shock. Harry was not aware of how bitter he sounded, but everyone else in the office was. There was a terse silence. 

"I can only hope time will prove those words wrong." Beneath Dumbledore's frigid disapproval there was a sorrow that flushed Harry with shame. But he pressed on. 

"Can't you tell me _why?_ What kind of protection do the Durselys have against Voldemort? They're...they're nothing but Mugg--" 

Rysk stepped forward from beside Dumbledore's chair, invading Harry's space so as to force him a pace backwards. "Shut your mouth, Potter, before it gets you into trouble," she hissed, a vicious snake that had just sent venom shooting down his spine. Harry froze, but Sirius lunged forward and grabbed fistfuls of Rysk's shirt, snarling. 

"Don't talk to him like that!" 

"Sirius!" 

Rysk made a motion with her hand to stay the Headmaster, who had half-risen from his seat. She did not seem alarmed at all. After a moment, Black released her with a gasp and stumbled back. He looked shock at himself, staring at Professor 'Harrison' dumbly before flinching away from her eyes. "I...sorry. Sorry. I..." 

"You're jumpy, Black," she said smoothly. 

He looked up with an eagerness that made Harry narrow his eyes. "Yeah." 

"Just calm down." 

"Yeah." 

Harry glanced between the two, nonplussed, but Dumbledore broke into his thoughts. "No further outbursts, please." He smiled wryly, but sounded tired. "There is much to be decided. Harry, Professor Harrison and myself must speak privately to Sirius. And I would answer your question, but...when you're ready. I promise." 

"I'm _ready,_ sir," he protested. "I'm so tired of not knowing what's going on. You...you know what happened in the Alps. You know everything that's happened to me. I've _been_ ready, sir." 

"People can be ready for hell, but not the truth." Rysk's voice was queer: quiet and cold and _final_, as though she were damning someone. 

Harry imagined, for a moment, that he saw her eyes flick to Dumbledore. 

"I defer to Professor Harrison. Now, Harry, I'm sorry, but we must--" 

"I understand," said Harry quickly. "Just...could I talk to Sirius?" He glanced at his godfather pleadingly. "It won't take long, Please." 

Rysk and Dumbledore exchanged a glance. The Headmaster nodded, smiling gently. "Of course. We'll just step outside." 

"No, that's all right, really." Black was already halfway to the door. Harry suppressed a grimace: his godfather made it too obvious that they had something to hide. Before they could be stopped, he followed Sirius out of the office and shut the door. 


	31. Bonds

_*throws hands up* I surrender. I've kept everyone waiting long enough. Besides, this chapter's gotten long. I swear before God, Bhudda, Allah, and most importantly my pink beanie baby bunny, that everything will be completed by 32._

_There. My fate is sealed. ;)_

_Horribly sorry about the wait, really. Enjoy!_

_(Oh, and btw...I am no longer 14. 15 as of May 7th, 2002. Whoo!)_   
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ron found Fred, George, and Ginny waiting for him as he stepped through the fire of the Gryffindor common room. He was terrified. In a single instant, he had left everything he knew behind. 

_You should be used to it by now_, he thought, trying to alleviate his fear with rueful humor. Even in his own mind, his laughter rang false. He had done dangerous things, yes, but he had never left Hogwarts or home. As he surveyed the room, which was small and quaintly furnished with a small glass table and rocking chair, he felt the heavy gloom of being cut off from home fall over him. But the faces of his brothers and sister were an immeasurable comfort. 

"Where are we?" he asked, unable to hide a faint tremor in his voice as he stepped out of the fire. His trunk was suddenly far too heavy to lift. He let it fall to the wooden floor with a loud _slam._ Ginny jumped. 

"Don't know," said George, looking about the empty room nervously. Everything beyond the light of the fire was in deep shadow. "Isn't someone supposed to be here...?" His voice trailed off, as though he were afraid of summoning a demon. 

For a few chilling seconds there was silence. Ron saw that off to the right there was a doorway that led out into a hallway. The rich, oaken theme of the house contrasted strangely with the furniture. The mantel of the fireplace was made of dark wood and ornately carved. "Maybe we should--" 

Fred bellowed in alarm. Ron spun around, fumbling for his wand, as a tall shadow surged in through the doorway from the hall. 

"Stop! Stop, or I'll kill you!" 

Ron's hand stopped on his wand. He was too astonished to draw it as he stared at Ginny, open-mouthed. His little sister was advancing a few steps toward the shadow, which had frozen at the sound of her voice. Her wand was out and pointed, while her other hand was curled into a fist. 

"I mean it." She sounded shrill and frightened. Frightened enough to follow through on what she was saying. "I'll kill you!" 

The shadow shifted. "Ron? Tell her to put it away." It was a wizard's voice, ragged and breathless. "Please." 

Ron drew his own wand and aimed it at the voice, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the twins had already done so. "Come forward," he ordered, shaking. "Slowly. Give us your wand first." 

"There's no _time_ for this." The wizard sounded no less frightened than they. A wand rolled forward into the flickering light of the flames, bumping into Ginny's foot. She grabbed it up. 

"All right. Come on now. Slowly," said George. 

The man that limped into the glare of the flames looked as though he couldn't have come forward any way but slowly. His robes were torn and bloodied. The whites of his eyes stood out starkly against his black skin. Ron caught his breath: he bore a vague resemblance to Lee Jordan. He held his hands before him, empty. "We have to go. Now." 

"Someone was supposed to meet us," said Ron through a dry throat. 

"I know. That would be me." The wizard eyed Ginny apprehensively. Her eyes were blazing and, unlike her brothers, her wand hand had not wavered. "I'm sorry I wasn't here...something happened." Ron glanced at the blood oozing out of a cut in the man's arm. "We have to go, _now_." 

"Where?" 

"A Portkey. I need my wand." He looked expectantly at Ginny. Her eyes narrowed. Ron bit his lip, studying the wizard's forearms. His robes had been torn enough to let Ron see that the only thing thing marking them was blood and dirt. 

"Give it back to him, Ginny," he said quietly. 

Ginny tossed it back to him after a moment of hesitation, still without a word. She kept her wand levelled. 

"Who are you?" demanded Fred as the stranger hobbled toward the fireplace. Ron backed away to give him room. 

"Mundungus Fletcher," he replied through tight lips, sounding strained. He chanted a spell under his breath, pointing his wand at the empty space above the mantel. An old clock, dusty and broken, appeared from out of nowhere. 

"That it?" 

"Yes." 

"I don't trust him." 

Fletcher spun around to face Ginny. "You have to. Please," he looked to Ron, "we are in danger. We must go _now_." 

"I don't trust him!" repeated Ginny, louder this time. Her brown eyes were hard and bright in a way her brothers had never seen before. 

Ron bit his lip, stayed by her words. "Tell us something." 

"What?" 

"Anything! Prove it to us." 

Fletcher looked about frantically, as though expecting enemies to burst into the room at any second. "You...aren't you Harry's friends?" Ron nodded. "I was with him, in the Alps. You know about the Alps." 

"No," chorused the twins. 

"I do," said Ron sharply. "Ginny, put your wand away. Let's go." 

Ginny reluctantly tucked her wand back into her robes. She continued to stare at Fletcher even as everyone circled about the clock. "On three," said Fletcher, as soon as all of their hands were hovering over the Portkey. "One, two, _three_." 

Ron felt a moment of nauseating fear as his fingers touched the clock: what if Fletcher really was a dark wizard? Then he lurched from the sharp tug behind his navel and the world disappeared into a whirlwind of color. 

**** 

"You didn't tell anyone, did you?" 

They were sitting on the floor at the bottom of the spiralling stairs. Harry closed his eyes and looked away. Bruising fingers were suddenly digging into his shoulders. "_Did you?_" 

"Ow!" Harry pulled away and stood, alarmed. "No, I didn't!" Sirius continued to stare at him like a frightened animal. "All right, I told Hagrid, but he knew already!" 

"Not Snape?" whispered Black. A chill ran down Harry's spine when he realized that his godfather was on his knees before him, practically begging. 

"No," he said, crouching back down and grabbing the older man's arms. "No, not Snape." His brow furrowed as he searched Black's face, puzzled by the near-panic he found there. "Sirius, what's wrong?" 

Sirius looked away, hair falling forward to hide his expression. Fleetingly, Harry noticed that it was shorter than he remembered. "I-I'm sorry. I...it's been...been on my mind ever since your letter. Nearly went mad." Harry's eyes narrowed as Black shuddered. "I was just so...worried about...her..." 

Harry tilted his head, trying to catch Sirius's eyes. "About her?" He glanced nervously to the top of the stairs. "Why about--" 

Black started to himself like a frightened animal. "Nothing." His voice was suddenly harsh, causing Harry to jump. "How did you find out?" he demanded, trying to pull away at the same time. 

"A little owlie told me," said Harry, jerking Sirius back with more force than he realized. "What do you mean, worried about her?" 

"I'm not!" He tugged against Harry's grip. "I meant I'm worried about what will happen if _he_ ever--" 

"_You're lying._" 

"So are you!" 

There was a terse silence before Harry dropped his hands from his godfather's wrists. Sirius rocked backwards, staring at him as if he were a stranger. Harry slid back along the ground until his head scraped the underside of the moving stairs. For a long minute all that was to be heard was the gentle clicking of the spiralling staircase. Harry stole a glance at Black, who looked so shaken that he felt his anger dissipate in an instant, to be replaced by the same helpless frustration that had plagued him for nearly a year. "Sirius..." He tucked his knees to his chest. "Don't you trust me?" 

Harry's steady voice seemed to calm Black a bit. He closed his eyes and sighed, suddenly looking so much more tired than before, as though his spirit as well as his body had been taxed. "I trust you to be a good person, Harry. I trust you to do the right thing, like James always did." He smiled bitterly. "That's why I couldn't trust you not to go to Snape." 

"I wanted to," whispered Harry, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. Just talking about it was painful. "But I can't. I would never. It would be...he'd go back, I know he'd go back. It would be murder." 

"Genocide," Sirius corrected him hollowly. 

Harry shivered as he hesitated, unable to decide whether or not to tell Sirius the truth. "I'll answer your question," he said abruptly, "if you answer mine." 

His godfather shifted uncomfortably without answering. 

"I didn't know when I owled you." Sirius looked up sharply. "I thought...I thought what he thought. That he'd really killed them...but not on purpose! Under the..." He gestured with one hand, swallowing to moisten a dry throat. "...the Imperius Curse. That was the curse I was talking about in my letter. Not...not Obliviate. But when you wrote me back..." 

"Oh, my God." Sirius was horrified. "You mean I--" Harry nodded. Black stared at him in shock. Then he began to laugh mirthlessly. "I'm such an idiot." A breathless gasp that bordered on hysteria. "I'm such a Goddamn_ idiot!_" Harry bit his cheek, deciding that it would be best to keep silent. After a moment his godfather quieted. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry I brought you into this." 

Harry sighed. "It's all right. It's just...I...I see him every day and I know and...I feel sorry for him. I feel _sorry_ for the git." 

Sirius's face underwent a subtle but alarming transformation; his eyes hardened and his lip curled ever so slightly. "If you knew the whole story, you wouldn't." 

A shiver had run down Harry's spine when he saw that expression contort his godfather into, for one second, a man he didn't know. "You know...you two did shake on working together." 

"Yes." 

"And being civil." 

"There wasn't anything about hate in there." 

Harry frowned, troubled. He felt his face fall into a serious cast as he regarded Sirius. "Do you hate him?" 

"Bitterly." Black's reply was cold and unhesitant. 

Harry winced inwardly, his worry and unease deepening. This was a side of Sirius he had long ignored in hopes of it never coming up again, but... "I wish you wouldn't." 

Black's chin raised. Despite his firmness, he sounded uncomfortable. "I have my reasons." 

Harry bit his lip, rising to his feet and stretching stiff legs. "I didn't say that you shouldn't. Just that I wish you wouldn't." He brushed his robes off, unaware of how deeply his disappointment had cut into his godfather. Sirius stood quickly, about to say something, when the door to Dumbledore's office opened. 

"Black!" Rysk's voice floated down to them. "We don't have all night." 

"All right, all right, I'm _coming._" Sirius hurried past Harry to the stairs, then suddenly turned around. "Harry, promise me you'll be careful." 

"_Me?_ _You_ be careful." 

"Shake on it." Harry clasped Sirius's upheld hand. The older man drew them closer together until they embraced. When Harry tried to pull away after a moment, he found himself still trapped. "You won't tell?" The pleading note had returned to his voice. Harry stiffened. When Sirius sensed it and loosened his hold, he leaned back enough to look at his face. 

"You're protecting her." Even to himself, his voice sounded strange, as though a different boy were speaking from a different world. A slow, numb feeling was creeping over his mind. He had felt it only once before: the day he had arrived at Hogwarts and realized that his entire life had changed. 

Sirius was shaking his head feebly, avoiding Harry's eyes. 

"Why are you protecting her?" 

"I'm...I'm not...we all have to...for--" 

"No; why are _you_ protecting her?" 

Black stared at him helplessly for a moment. He swallowed. "You know. She's saved my life...more than once." 

"_So?_" 

Sirius's smile was bitter and frightening. "You've seen what a wizard's debt can do." 

_Shrieks and screams and the sickening crack of bone. A nightmarish werewolf, ripping into struggling flesh. Red blood spreading over the snow. _Forgive me. 

Harry's breath caught as he stepped away from his godfather. 

_Forgive me._

"Harry? Oh, God, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--" 

"_Black!_" Sirius's head snapped up as Rysk once again appeared at the top of the staircase, but Harry only continued to stare at him. "Potter, get back to your room. Or stay there, if you want to," she added coolly as an afterthought, "If you want to say goodbye before he goes. Get your ass up here, Black." 

Harry started only partially to his senses when Sirius grabbed his shoulders. "Harry." The older man could plainly read the terror in his face. "I'm sorry, please, I wasn't thinking--" 

"No, no." Harry forced a smile. "I'm all right." 

Relief flooded over his godfather's face. "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." 

"All right," he said reluctantly, guilt showing through at having to leave their conversation like this. "Take care of yourself." He reached out and mussed his hair. 

"You, too." 

With a concerned glance over his shoulder Sirius stepped onto the spiralling stairs, taking them two at a time. It took every ounce of willpower Harry had not too spring after his godfather and drag him back. Away from that office. Away from Carmen Rysk. 

He stared after him until the shiny oak door closed with a click that echoed through the chamber. The noise released him from paralysis. He backed into the closest wall and slid down to the ground. 

It was laughable, really, how long he had known what a life debt was, and what the resulting bond was capable of, and yet never truly understood, even after it had been flung right in his face. He put a hand to his forehead, half-expecting to feel his scar begin to burn at any moment. For the first time in months, Harry allowed himself to truly reflect on Peter Pettigrew. There must have been guilt, he realized, such guilt burning in his father's betrayer. He must have thought of Harry every day and every night, just as Harry had thought of him before Lupin's rescue in the Alps. Perhaps he had fought the connection until he nearly went mad with anger and torment. And finally that night he had seen his chance, his only chance, and thrown himself into the jaws of a monster. Perhaps... 

_I made him do that, _thought Harry, feeling sick, and ever sicker when a dark thrill of excitement raced up his spine. He had never thought of it before; such power over another was simply unimaginable. And yet... 

_"...When one wizard saves another wizard's life, it creates a certain bond between them..." _Dumbledore's solemn words, secretly tucked into the back of his mind, echoed down from two years before. 

"Maybe," whispered Harry, shocked by his own thoughts. _Maybe he would have done anything I asked._

No. Impossible. 

_"This is magic at its deepest, its most impenetrable, Harry."_

"He would have." His words mingled with his breath to become inaudible. _Anything...anything I asked. Oh, God._ It was a preposterous idea, inconceivable and unbelievably arrogant. But somehow, Harry knew it was true. And he desperately wished that it wasn't. 

_I owned him._

Harry was terrified for Sirius. Sirius, who owed Carmen Rysk his life more than once. 

He never remembered Draco Malfoy until much later. 

**** 

It was a very large and very old piece of parchment, its yellowed edges falling slightly over the sides of Dumbledore's cleared desk. Filling it was the small isle of Ireland, enlarged to show nearly ever city or town in existence. The black ink was fading, and the style of the map matched its faintly musty smell of age. An ornate compass adorned the bottom right-hand corner. It was marked with runes, as was the rest of the map. 

"Here, here, here...and here." Black's wand touched several points on the map in turn. As he did so, the surface of the crumbling paper stretched taut and rippled, like quicksilver. Ireland disappeared, to be replaced by four divided sections. Instead of labelled cities, each quadrant showed hills and rocks and the roofs of cities from above. In two of them rain spattered the ground. Sirius frowned and glanced up quickly at Rysk and Dumbledore, standing on either side of the desk. "It's been a while since I've used these runes," he explained softly. After a moment, he reached out and lightly traced his wand in deliberate strokes. The image blurred again, then cleared, now showing another patch of landscape. Black adjusted all the quadrants thus several times, until each had shifted to his liking. 

"We've cast every Alerting Charm there is on all of them. The problem is, we know for sure that at least two of them are Whorls, and you know how those play hell with every spell someone casts. So we have to actually _watch_ them, just in case.   
I don't ever want one person guarding alone. Especially Remus." At the mention of the werewolf's name Black seemed to grow even more haggard. "We need eight people." 

"You have six," Rysk pointed out, watching him from beneath half-hooded lids and sounding almost bored. 

"So we've got everyone doing shifts. Rotating. Remus is never left alone. No one else is by themselves for more than fifteen minutes. Somewhere in between we eat, sleep...other human-like activities." 

Rysk leaned forward to study the map. In one section was a jagged formation of black rock, roughly circular. In a second was a vast, grassy field, stormy under the rain. In the third was a lake, mirror-smooth, and the fourth a round clearing enclosed by a tight strand of trees. Moonlight revealed unusually smooth and pale bark. Even seen through a magical map, the grove was strangely eerie. "Is this where you were?" 

Sirius nodded, staring at where she had laid her finger in the fourth square. The trees rippled, as though they were only reflections in water that had been disturbed. "Yes." 

"I recognize it." Rysk glanced at the Headmaster. "Deirdre's Grove. 'The witch who gave her name its meaning; whose grief rose to rival Morgana's madness...'" she murmured in the chanting lilt of recitation, trailing off to a thoughtful whisper. 

"Makes sense," said Black. 

Professor 'Harrison' inclined her head. "Yeah. But I don't know any of these...think I might have seen those rocks before." She looked at Dumbledore sidelong. "You leave something out in my lessons?" 

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not intentionally. Ireland is fraught with Whorls; its very earth is imbued with magic. Even I don't have them all commited to memory." 

"These are minor ones, then?" 

"Relatively, yes." Dumbledore straightened his spectacles. "This," he pointed at the rock formation, "is Merlin's Obsidian." 

"Merlin?" Rysk's eyes narrowed. "Merlin wasn't Irish." 

"No. It's fabled that he made several trips there, though. The origin of this Whorl is unknown. You know the old rule. When in doubt, give it to Merlin." He chuckled dryly before sobering. "These are the four?" 

Sirius started. He had been staring at Rysk without realizing it. "Yes. Good to know they're all Whorls; we haven't been wasting our time with Muggled places," he replied, looking away from her with more effort than was normal. Everyone noticed it; no one said anything about it. "Albus, we're trying out there. But...there's just...we're too few, and they're too many, especially after you sent Mundungus off on...whatever the hell he's doing." He paused and looked expectantly at the Headmaster, who only shook his head. More frustration seeped into Sirius's words. "With the crazy way we're running about, trying to keep an eye on them--" 

"What've you seen?" interrupted Rysk. 

"That's what I'm _saying_," he snapped, "We haven't seen them at all. We haven't seen a black robe or green flash since we got back! I need a strategy! Something, _anything!_" 

"Sirius. You know that if we had anything, we would give it to you." 

"Give us the Longbottoms." 

"They are needed here," replied the Headmaster evenly, with the faintest hint of ire. 

"We can't keep this up!" Sirius's eyes flashed angrily, his frayed nerves threatening to snap. "We're dying over there!" 

Dumbledore's blue eyes were suddenly sharp and piercing. The younger man faltered and looked away, unable to meet such a gaze. "We cannot spare Frank and Amanda. Arabella cannot watch over Harry this summer; they must. Both are still wounded in spirit, mind, and body. Would you have them confront Voldemort's followers so soon? And in any case, St. Mungo's staff is still monitoring them. They cannot go to Ireland. Do you _understand?_" 

Black turned away, thoroughly chastised. "I know. I know. I'm sorry." He laughed bitterly under his breath. "Bloody God, that's all I've been saying all night." 

Professor 'Harrison' broke the ensuing silence abruptly, saving Sirius from further discomfort. "Look at this." Rysk ran her fingers over the map, not bothering with her wand. Her tone was brisk and purposeful, almost as if she were saving Black's face intentionally. The quadrants wavered, merged, then coalesced to show the oldest and most mysterious Whorl in the world; one of the few areas of trapped and concentrated magic known to Muggles as well as wizards. "What about Stonehenge?" 

**** 

Their conference continued long into the night. By three o'clock in the morning the office floor was strewn with several open books, every painful detail about the goose chase in Ireland had been thoroughly discussed, and Sirius Black looked on the verge of collapse. 

"God," he said wearily, running a hand through his hair. Dumbledore had just finished a detailed summary of happenings in the Ministry and the Weasley family's situation. Even told succinctly, the whole of it had taken over an hour. "So that's what Mundungus...he'll be all right?" 

"Nothing is without risk." 

"Right." His short laugh was frayed with hysteria. "And Fudge..." He put his fingers to his temples, then rubbed at the bags under his eyes. "I'm getting déjà vu. Do we have Beaubaxtons on our side this time?" 

"Well, we have Madame Maxime," replied the Headmaster grimly. 

Sirius stared at the older man blankly before sagging back against the wall. His shoulder jarred a sleeping portrait out of sleep. "Now then," the ancient wizard sputtered, looking down indignantly over his frame, "what? What's this?" 

"Found it!" said Rysk excitedly from her corner, where she had been sitting cross-legged on the floor poring over book after book. Without looking up she ran a finger over the one currently in her lap. Dumbledore walked over to stare down at the tome as she read, " 'Summer's Hill'. Weird name for a field..." Scanning the page curiously, her lips quirked into a wry expression. "Ah. _Used_ to be a hill. 'Originated 3000 B.C.'...there's no way. It's too young." 

"By far," agreed Dumbledore. "And Merlin's Obsidian? Five thousand years before Christ, I believe, but it's best to check." 

"Marked it." Rysk flipped several hundred pages back. "Around...5500 B.C. You were close. Would that be old enough?" 

The Headmaster frowned. "Most peculiar." 

"What?" Professor 'Harrison' glanced up for the first time in almost an hour and winced as the bones and muscles in her neck protested. 

"Fifty-five hundred years...to be optimistic, I would say _just _barely enough power for the Summoning. If the rite were performed there, the Whorl would be drained." 

Rysk's mouth twitched. "It would blow to hell." 

"If you want to be optimistic," replied Dumbledore, deadpanning. 

"Mm. Black." She looked at him for the first time, "Why would Vold--Black?" Rysk stood to her feet, letting the tome hit the ground without a second glance. Sirius's bleary eyes snapped open when he heard the dull thud. He groaned in silent agony. Just being awake, at this point, was painful. He was alert enough, though, to notice the concern written across Rysk's face before her expression snapped shut again. Her spine went straight and seemed to quiver, full of repressed tension. "You're a mess," she said emotionlessly. "Get some sleep." 

"No," he protested reflexively. His tongue felt to heavy too move; his words were slurred. " 'm fine...wha...wha' were you saying...?" He tried to straighten and stumbled. In the next second he felt his legs knocked out from under him, only to be caught in mid-fall and lowered more gently to the carpet. Sirius gasped, finding himself on his back and staring up at Rysk. 

"Carmen!" Dumbledore's amusement hid something far deeper. 

"Get. To. Sleep." 

Sirius Black stared at her for a long minute. He was exhausted, nearly beyond reason, and was helpless against the emotions that Rysk's presence evoked. Fear and security, confusion and familiarity, gratitude and resentment, but above all, the keen edge of hate's knife. 

Yet, how could he refuse her anything? 

Sirius curled in on himself, much like a dog, and let sleep take him. 

**** 

"So that's it." 

"That's it," agreed Dumbledore. He finished drawing the cross within a triangle within a circle at the bottom of the blank parchment and laid down his quill. He stared at the symbol for a moment before sighing. "I had hoped beyond hope fifteen years ago that I would never have to pen such orders again. But, alas..." For a moment, his blue eyes looked sunken and tired behind his spectacles. He glanced up at Rysk, who was sitting on the edge of his desk, cleared of the magical map. "It's late, Carmen--" 

"Rysk," she corrected him automatically. 

"--or early, if you like. I'll take care of Sirius. Go catch some sleep." 

Indeed, Rysk's face was drawn with fatigue. She nodded, sliding off the desk's edge, and started for the door, but stopped and hesitated as she passed Black. The Animagus twitched in his sleep, too obviously thin even though covered by 'Harrison's' robes. With a sudden jerk he came awake. The Headmaster watched with carefully veiled interest as Sirius's gaze instantly locked onto Rysk's, pinpointing her presence even immediately after coming out of sleep, stressed and disoriented. He cleared his throat before the sudden stillness of the room became awkward. "Of course, Carmen, you're free to stay if you wish--" 

Rysk's grey eyes flickered. "I'm sure you can handle it," she said coldly. She turned away from Black and made for the door. 

"Wait," called Black hoarsely, sitting up and lifting a hand to stay her. Professor 'Harrison' stopped with her hand on the doorknob. It was a moment before she glanced back. "Keep an eye on Harry." 

"I'm his teacher, Black. It's what he pays me to do." She tilted her head towards Dumbledore, her voice callous. 

"_No_." Sirius looked at her pleadingly. "Take care of him." 

Rysk's icy demeanor, thin ever since Sirius had stepped into the office, showed a crack for the first time that night. Her breath caught silently; several strange expressions chased each other across her eyes as she stared at him. The changes were so infinitely subtle that Dumbledore could only barely catch them. Black, however, could feel every single one and knew she was struggling. 

"Carmen, _please._" 

And it seemed to both wizards that he had gone too far. With a faint curl of the lip that promised murder, Rysk left without another word. 

**** 

Harry half-awoke to a queer sensation. He was being held by strong arms against someone's chest and carried like a babe. "Wh...wha...?" he slurred groggily, "Sirius?" He raised his head from the shoulder it had been pillowed against and tried to move his dangling legs. Where was he? Hadn't he been sitting at the bottom of the spiralling stairs, waiting to make sure he could say goodbye...? 

"Rysk!" he exclaimed, using her real name in his clouded state. He struggled in momentary alarm. "Wha...'s goin' on?" 

"Shh," she hissed, staring straight ahead as she began climbing a staircase, carrying him as though he weighed nothing. 

"Sirius," he protested sleepily. 

"I told him bye for you," she said. Even though clipped, Harry found her quiet tone, combined with the darkness of Hogwarts in the wee hours of the morning, comforting in spite of himself. "You fell asleep down there. It's four in the morning, Potter. You're going back to your room." 

"Oh." He blinked, struggling to keep his heavy and sore eyelids peeled. "But...you didn't..." _...hurt him._ Disoriented as he was, he caught himself just in time. "I mean, he's..." 

"All right." One hand came up to press his head back into her shoulder as it began to loll. Perhaps it was his exhaustion, but Harry was sure there was the same firm gentleness in that hand as he had felt when she had held him after Pettigrew's death. 

The sharp pain and anxiety over not being able to see Sirius off was dulled by the fact he was falling inexplicably back into slumber. Even so, he managed to murmur, "You're strong." 

A dry note entered her voice. "It's a Lightening Spell, Potter." 

"Oh." Then, "Why're y' doin' this?" 

She didn't answer. Harry tried again, but felt that he only succeeded in making his words more slurred. Slipping in and out of consciousness, he only vaguely remembered being ordered to give the Fat Lady the password; could barely recollect being set inside the Gryffindor common room, staggering up the stairs, and collapsing into bed without bothering to change. 

"Why're y' doin' thi..." The question stayed on the tip of his tongue as he sank into blissfully dreamless sleep. 

**** 

Dumbledore watched Sirius in the heavy silence that followed her departure. At length Black stirred. As he stood, Rysk's dark robes slid from his body to the ground. He stared at the pile they formed before shaking his head and looking up. The Headmaster walked to him and put a hand on his shoulder, blue eyes kind and sad. Sirius took the offered envelope silently. "No," said Dumbledore gently as he began to open it. "Go over it with the others." 

"Anything I should know?" His voice was hollow. 

"Nothing we haven't gone over. Carmen..." He paused as Black winced. "...and I have eliminated two of the Whorls. Voldemort is deliberately creating enough activity around ones that can't possibly be used, to spread us thin. Some of them _can_ be used, but not without serious consequences." 

"Are we dropping those?" Sirius turned the unmarked envelope over in his hands. Even though limp, his body was strung with a strange tension. His movements were careful but strained, as though he were fighting to keep them controlled. 

"One of them." 

The Auror closed his eyes. "God." 

"I know it's a risk." 

Black smiled thinly. "No risk, no gain." 

"Yes," he agreed. The Headmaster looked about before gently pushing Sirius towards the fireplace. "The details are in the orders, including ones about Mundungus. He'll be returning to you soon." 

"Mundungus--" 

"Go back, Sirius. Go back and rest; you've been away from them too long." 

Sirius snorted self-deprecatingly. "Not long enough, more like." His voice was bitter. Dumbledore suddenly grasped Black's shoulders and turned him about. 

"Sirius Black, I could not ask for a finer leader of the Order than you." He caught the younger wizard's gaze and did not release it. "You have endured, sacrificed, and done more than could be expected of any man. Whatever what happens after this, I know that you will have done your best. None of this is your fault." 

A disturbing light had come into Black's eyes; a flicker of all-consuming, mad guilt. "I couldn't save James or Lily." 

"Sirius--" 

"Look at what I did to Remus." 

"It was _not your_--" 

"Look at what I did to _her!_" Sirius's voice rose without warning to an anguished shout, breaking as it did. He kept himself still, but his dark gaze snapped to the office door and stayed there, as if they could burn through the wood. "She won't even..." Just as suddenly, he became barely audible. "_God._ She won't even let me try to...any of it. _Any of it_." 

There was nothing Albus Dumbledore could say. Grief at being unable to allay Black's suffering played across his face. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I know how painful it can be when this kind of connection is abused." 

Sirius looked sharply away from the door to the Headmaster. The firelight made his eyes bright, but Dumbledore suspected that unshed tears made them so as well. "No," he whispered. In his long life, Dumbledore had encountered every facet of human nature, even the very darkest. But the helplessness and anger and pain that surged through Black's voice touched him more deeply than he expected. "You aren't bonded to _her._" 

Sirius turned away. He reached into his robes and withdrew his hand with a fistful of Floo powder. The flames of the fire turned deep blue instead of the usual green as he threw it in: the color of the secret Floo network. "Tell Harry goodbye for me," he said, snapping out of his misery with disturbing speed. 

"Of course. Take care of yourself, Sirius." 

Black stepped into the fire and vanished. 

Dumbledore stared after him before turning and sinking down into the chair behind his desk. Alone in his office, with only Fawkes to see, the old wizard removed his tall hat and let his head drop forward into his hands. As though sensing his weariness, his pet phoenix fluttered onto the desk beside his elbows and nipped at the sleeves of his robes. Drawing a deep breath, Dumbledore straightened and managed a smile for Fawkes. The bird was thin and ugly now, rapidly losing his beautiful feathers. In a few minutes he would burst into flames, only to be reborn again. 

"If only your tears could heal more than wounds," muttered Albus, stroking Fawkes's head. He rested his temple against long, thin fingers. At that moment the door opened again. Rysk stepped in. Her blonde hair, streaked with red, swung loose over her shoulders, having grown longer. "Left my robes," she explained curtly, walking to where they lay on the carpet and gathering them up. She glanced at Dumbledore to catch him staring at her without warmth. "What?" 

"Be kind enough to watch Harry and Draco Malfoy. Closely." 

Rysk let a pause hang in the air, making it clear that she had not missed the double meaning. Dismissive contempt and indifference ran beneath her cold tone. "Naturally." 

**** 

He first became aware of warm sunlight glowing behind his eyelids, then a voice from above. "Harry?" His shoulder being shaken. "Hey, Harry." 

"Mmf." He threw his arm over his eyes. 

"Come on, get up," Dean Thomas insisted. "For God's sake, you've missed breakfast already--" 

A rush of panic jerked Harry upright. "What?" he yelped, tossing his covers aside. "What time is it?" 

"No, no. _Harry._ It's _Saturday._" Dean began to laugh. 

Harry blinked stupidly. "Oh." The events of last night surfaced in his mind. "Oh," he repeated, feeling more grateful for a Saturday than he thought possible. He didn't think he could have survived another day of classes. 

"Really, are you all right?" Dean looked at the rumpled robes Harry had fallen into bed in. "Why're you sleeping in your--" 

"Tired as hell last night, s'all." He forced a silly, self-deprecating smile and stood. His left leg was completely numb. "I'm gonna go shower." 

"Yeah, well, you'd better hurry. It's ten minutes to one," the other boy called after him. Harry narrowly avoiding falling on his face as a fresh wave of pins and needles attacked his foot. 

"Good. I'm starving," he replied truthfully as he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, just as his stomach rumbled. He hastened to his usual sink, the one he had used since his first year. A rueful pang quirked his lips. He had stepped in to wash up early, the novelty of being attacked by wave after wave of gushing strangers having worn off, and headed for the sink at the very end of a long row. Unfortunately, that end was the one farthest away from the door that led to the showers. He had had to endure the curiosity and greetings of every single boy using every single sink between him and that door. 

"Morning, dear," said the mirror cheerfully as Harry confronted his reflection. "Or afternoon, I should say. Why so late?" 

"Tired. It was a long day yesterday," he explained, elaborating more than was normal when talking to a mirror. Still, when the same voice greeted him every morning for five years, he couldn't help but become rather familiar with it. 

"You look it," she (Harry had always assumed that the mirror was a 'she', as it sounded like one) replied, sounding concerned. Harry leaned forward slightly and had to agree. His face looked somehow thinner than usual, and beneath his eyes there were faint bags. Nothing a hot shower couldn't take care of, but he still was a mess. He reached up and mussed his hair, trying in vain to elicit cooperation from it. The mirror chuckled. "You've tried for five years, dear, it won't start working now. What flavor?" she asked as Harry grabbed a toothbrush and held it under a thin tube beside the faucet. 

"Mint Mocha." 

Despite all the sweets that the students of Hogwarts had access to, every witch and wizard there had the whitest teeth Harry had ever seen, and with good reason. An unexpected snort of laughter sprayed water from his lips as he (reluctantly) rinsed out his mouth. Hermione's parents must have been absolutely delighted. He usually brushed for much longer (changing flavors once or twice along the way), but he knew he most likely had only five minutes to wash. He was hungry and he wanted to talk to Hermione. 

A full minute later, standing under a stream of hot water, Harry realized that for a moment things had almost been normal. And he was grateful for the genuine smile he felt his lips pulling into. The worries were still there, chewing at the back of his mind, but he felt that everything from now on would be all right, because the old saying was suddenly true: things were always better in the morning. 

_Afternoon_, he corrected himself. Then, _Whatever._

_****_

The Great Hall was full and bustling by the time Harry reached it. He easily picked out Hermione's face from among the hundreds at the Gryffindor table. His light mood diminished slightly when he saw her head bent close to Neville Longbottom's, who was standing behind her and talking low but quickly. 

"Hi Hermione, hi Neville," he called, taking a seat beside his friend as a first year moved to make room for him. 

"Oh, hey, there you are," replied Neville, but his shy smile, familiar as it was, was cursory. He walked off with a wave. Hermione didn't look up. 

"Harry!" Rosie Hether was sitting across from him. "Thought you weren't coming down; why'd you sleep so late?" 

"I have no clue," lied Harry cheerfully, hoping that Rosie didn't notice him watching Hermione out of the corner of his eye. "But I'm starving." 

Rosie laughed her infectious laugh and pushed a golden platter piled with hot rolls towards him. Harry grabbed two and began slathering on butter with genuine enthusiasm. Beside him, Hermione straightened from whatever Neville was saying and, after staring at her plate of peas and mashed potatoes, pushed it away. Harry leaned over to her ear. "What is it?" he murmured, resisting the urge to wolf down his roll. 

Hermione was silent for a moment before looking at him. Harry saw her jaw work subtly and knew she must be rubbing her tongue along the roof of her mouth, a little trick she had once revealed to him and Ron: it stopped you from crying. "Neville..." She had to stop and swallow. "Neville's parents." 

"Yeah, I know." 

"They were the ones who..." Her even tone sounded forced. "Who found out about someone trying to kill Ron. They've got a message for us." 

Harry forgot about chewing and swallowed whatever was in his mouth, nearly choking. "Is he safe? Where is he? Ginny? The twins?" 

"Neville doesn't know where they are; they can't tell him; but they want us all to know that they're all right." Hermione's jaw tightened; she reached for a glass of raspberry cordial and drained it. 

"Hermione?" Harry touched her elbow gently. 

Hermione turned to him, but her eyes did not seem to be on his face. "He said he loved me," she said after a moment. She gave a queer, unsure little laugh. "Can you love someone when you're fifteen, Harry?" 

Harry bit his lip. "I don't know." 

Hermione sighed. "Well, never mind. Why were you so tired this morning?" 

Harry's relief at being able to reach for more food without seeming rude mixed with apprehension. He bought himself precious seconds to ponder as he chewed on a drumstick. "Snuffles was here last night," he whispered as quietly as possible. 

His friend's hand tightened around her glass. "Well?" she muttered back after releasing a sharp breath. Harry thought frantically, trying to ignore the bitter feeling in his chest at having to think twice before confiding in Hermione. He remembered when he had been able to tell her and Ron anything, anything in the world. 

But that was when he had been the one being protected. Now he needed to protect others. 

He was protecting others. That made it a bit more bearable; enough for him to hold out. "I didn't get to talk to him much. He had to, you know, talk to Dumbledore alone. But, I asked how Remus--er, Lupin was doing." 

"Oh, how is he?" she said with a start, concerned. 

"Recovering." He glanced up to make sure Rosie couldn't hear their words. She was deep in conversation with a girl who had walked over from the Hufflepuff table. "And there was something else...about Ron." 

"What?" 

"The..." Harry looked around again. His blood froze when he the first things he met were Rysk's eyes. She was sitting at the High Table, contrasting sharply with Professor Flitwick beside her. A heartbeat's later she broke the contact, so smoothly and absently that Harry was convinced it had been chance. 

"Harry?" Hermione followed his gaze. Her face hardened. 

"I can't tell you here." Hermione inclined her head, dragging her eyes off of Rysk with difficulty. "Come outside with me after this. Quidditch field." 


	32. An Eerie Silence

_Wow._

_This fic has taken up the better part of this year. To be truthful, I only intended this to be a few chapters; an exercise in emulating Rowling's writing style. I don't know if I succeeded. I certainly deviated from it as the fic progressed. Well, anyway, now it looks like this is going to become a series. I must be crazy._

_Seriously, thank you, everyone. For reading, reviewing, and providing a hell of a lot of motivation. Oh, and for obliging my annoying desire to have pictures of Rysk. *g* I have a bunch of 'special thanks', as well, but...you know who you are. :)_

_Oh, btw...who wants me to add an epilogue? It would be non-traditional, which is bad. But it's fun, so it's good. All in favor say 'aye'..._   
_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Quidditch season was over, and so Harry and Hermione were the only ones on the field, in or out of the air. The afternoon sun was bright; the clouds were heavy with the promise of rain. 

"It was the Ministry." Harry confided it as they walked over the neatly-trimmed grass. His voice was low and calm; matter-of-factly secretive. He glanced at Hermione to see her reaction and found nothing. "The Ministry's been the entire problem since...well, you know." 

"It doesn't make sense," she said after a moment. "What's Ron got to do with the Ministry?" 

"His dad..." 

"That's his _dad_." 

Very similar words that he had once exchanged with Rysk rose unbidden in Harry's mind. He shrugged uncomfortably. "Could be they weren't going to kill him. Just..." He gestured, exasperated and becoming anxious simply thinking about it. "I don't know. Hold him for ransom, or for Mr. Weasley to stop--" 

"They wouldn't dare." Hermione's eyes flashed. 

"That's what we--I was thinking. But I don't know. It could be..." He eyed the grim set of Hermione's jaw with mixed feelings of relief and nervousness. "...you know, what we're all worried about. That Voldemort--" 

"_Harry_!" 

"_Voldemort _might have rotted the Ministry from the core. Enough to have..." 

"All right, I know what you're saying." 

"Right. Rysk really seemed to--" Harry felt a spark of panic as he realized his mistake. "That would be the main threat," he finished hastily. "But, really, we haven't a bloody clue." 

It was in vain. Hermione had caught on and would not be deterred. "Who's _we_?" she demanded sharply. 

Harry glanced at her guiltily. "Well, it's not really _we_. More just Sirius and Dumbledore. I was only there because--" 

Hermione moved to stand in his path. Her eyebrow arched a bit. "Sirius and Dumbledore." 

A painful silence fell between them. They stared at each other, mirror glares of baleful resentment. There was a strange lump forming in Harry's throat as he searched for a reply to Hermione's hard voice. Failing that, he searched her face. The smart, eager little girl that he had met five years ago was gone, replaced by a shrewd witch with familiar eyes. 

It hurt. 

"You've been hiding things. About Rysk, about...about everything," she accused. 

"What in God's name are you _talking_ about?" 

"Don't even...!" she warned harshly. 

"_Hiding_ things!" Harry nearly believed his own lie. "You know everything!" He gestured wildly. "I told you about the Order, about the Soulsbane, about Rysk snooping in his room...! And...and he's probably under Obliviate... I've told you enough to get us both killed!" 

"And you haven't said a word about it since." Hermione's gaze was angry and piercing. "Do you _know_ why he's under Obliviate, now?" 

Harry panicked. "_No_!" 

His denial came out louder than he had intended. Cursing himself, Harry walked to the edge of the field and dropped to the grass, back against the wall of the stands. Hermione stood over him, tight-lipped. "You haven't told us everything. _Don't_," she added harshly when he looked up and opened his mouth. "I've known for a long time." 

"Look, you're not my diary. And neither is Ron." 

"No, but you used to _trust_ us." 

Harry's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Finally he dropped his gaze and sighed. "Sit down," he said quietly. After a moment Hermione slid to the ground beside him. He could feel her eyes upon him heavily. Thankfully, she stayed silent until he had gathered his thoughts. "I'm sorry," he said finally. He closed his eyes, but the hot summer sun would not be shut out. "I've had...we've all had a bad year." 

"We've had bad years since...since first year!" Hermione's voice was soft but fierce. 

"I know, I know. This has...God, Hermione." Harry began agitatedly shredding a blade of grass between his fingers. "This has just been the worst." 

"Then why won't you _talk _to us about it, damn it?!" 

Harry felt his jaw drop open as he jerked his head, staring dumbly into Hermione's blazing eyes. "You...you cussed," he stammered. 

"I mean it, Harry. Ever since you came back from...ever since Christmas, you've just changed." 

"We're all growing up, Herm," he replied, overcoming his initial shock. 

"But we were growing up _together._ What's _wrong,_ Harry? We told each other everything." 

Harry drew his legs to his chest and bowed his head. No matter how many times it happened, that sensation of having his words stop up in his throat never became less miserable. "I...there's...it's just...ever since you and Ron..." He gestured helplessly and stole a sidelong glance at her. Hermione's face settled into an expression of reluctant guilt. 

"I'm sorry," she said, not bothering to deny anything. "But, Harry, we never wanted to stop listening to you. _You_ stopped talking." 

Harry flinched. "I know. I know." 

For a long stretch of time they sat, side by side, without speaking. Harry's mind was racing furiously, but through molasses. He felt like a small minnow, being tossed about and used in a sea of infinitely larger affairs. 

_No more,_ he decided with a strength he didn't know he possessed. _I'm taking charge now. No more._

He felt so heavy when he should have felt so free. 

Finally, with a shudder, Harry found the resolve to meet Hermione's eyes and force the steady voice he had always envied of her. "There are...some things I can't talk about." Her brow furrowed. "Some things that...that I shouldn't even know." 

Hermione laughed quietly. "What news." 

Harry smiled in spite of himself before sobering. "Really, Hermione. This time...this time it's dangerous. I can't. I wanted to tell you and Ron." He made a wry, disbelieving noise. "You won't believe how much I wanted to tell you and Ron. To tell _anyone_." He found himself running his tongue along the roof of his mouth. Hermione looked away, biting her lip. "And then...then there are some things...there are some things I won't be talking about for a long time." His throat was dry, making him sound raspy. "You understand." 

Slowly, she nodded; turned to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Okay." 

"Thanks." 

"But Rysk was there?" she pressed gently. 

"Yes, Rysk was there. I can't..." 

"That's all right." 

Harry smiled gratefully at her. Just then, a cold sensation touched the base of his spine. He turned his head toward Hogwarts with a sinking feeling in his stomach, certain for no reason of who he would see. Draco Malfoy was standing at the end of the field, watching. An overwhelming wave of emotion forced Harry to take a strangled gasp. Anger, fear, hysteria, but most of all a sense of closeness made him shake hard as he looked sharply away. It was the familiarity that made his flesh crawl, the intimacy that only developed with much time and trust. To feel it so strongly for a stranger--and a hostile one at that--was disconcerting and frightening. 

"Harry?" Hermione's brow furrowed as she saw him turn pale. "What's--" She caught sight of Malfoy. Her lips pursed. "What's _he_ want?" 

"Tell me he's not there," breathed Harry, a touch of desperation to his voice. 

Hermione looked even more puzzled; she glanced up over Harry's head again. "He's there," she confirmed. "Just forget about him." 

A bitter taste flooded Harry's mouth. He had to take charge of the situation. He could not let what happened to Snape, to Pettigrew, to Sirius, happen to him. 

But he felt he would rather die than do anything about it. 

"No. Hermione, I have to go." 

"What?" 

He forced himself to take several deep breaths. "Wizard's debt." The answer was so obvious and easy, he had to fight down unreasonable laughter at how complicated it really was. "You don't know what a wizard's debt is, do you?" 

"Of course I--" 

"No, you don't." Hermione leaned forward, concerned and alarmed by his suddenly calm voice. He met her gaze and held it. "I have to go." 

She stood with him and caught his arm, looking every bit as pained as he. "Why?" 

For a moment, Harry faltered. He wanted to push Malfoy away, to prove that he was strong enough to ignore any magical connection, no matter how deep. It would be easy, truly, and satisfying. Easy to hate him, hate him for what he had done. He had never _asked_ his nemesis to save his life, had never _asked_ for any life bond... 

_Pettigrew hated me,_ thought Harry numbly. _How he must have hated me. _But in the end, it was not Harry's blood that had spread over the snow in the mountains. 

"I'll tell you," he promised Hermione raggedly. "You and Ron. Someday." 

Hermione bit her lip. After what seemed a long time, the pressure of her fingers fell away. Somehow, Harry found a smile for her. Then he turned his back and began walking across the field, determined not to glance back. 

He stopped just short of Malfoy. The other boy regarded Harry coldly before drawling, "Come on, Potter." 

Harry followed him across the grounds without question in silence. Watching Malfoy's back as they made their way past the lake, he wondered if the Slytherin was as confused as he was. Overhead, the clouds began to roll steadily into one grey mass, ominously blotting out the sun. After another minute, Harry stopped abruptly when he saw where they were about to go. "This is the Forbidden Forest." 

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder, cocking an insolent eyebrow. The air seemed to grow denser by the second. "I can see that, Potter. I'm not blind." 

"We don't have to go in there. What do you want?" 

"What?" he mocked. "Is the fearless Harry Potter afraid to break the rules _now_?" 

Harry's temper flared. "Shut it, Malfoy," he snapped, beginning to stalk away. Even as he did so, Draco's presence became heavier and heavier at his back. With a sigh, he pivoted about and brushed past him into the trees. After a moment he heard a second set of footsteps behind him. As the woods around them became thicker Harry felt his stomach curl in apprehension. "Where are we going?" 

"Why don't you tell me?" 

Harry halted. "What?" 

"Oh, I don't know." Malfoy's voice oozed smug triumph. Harry smirked grimly. So. He knew. "You always seem to be disappearing, you know, then turning up in the hospital ward. I was only speculating on what in the world you could be up to. Perhaps tramping around these woods too often. Simply curious." 

"Good for you," he replied, edged. 

Malfoy clucked his tongue. "That's no way to talk to someone who saved your life." 

Harry spun around. Even in the dim light he could see Malfoy's eyes shining, gloating. His hands clenched and unclenched in helpless fury before he mastered himself. "No," he ground out under his breath, "it's not going to be that way." 

"You know what a wizard's debt is, Potter?" continued Malfoy, having not heard him and sounding deceptively nonchalant. He stepped purposely forward into Harry's personal space. "It means you do whatever I say. That's why you came here with me in the first place, because you owe me. And I _own_ you. 

"If you just tell me what I want to know. That nonsense they fed us this Christmas--lost travellers that had run into a pack of Leechbats--_you_ know. You know what happened. I don't believe you were knocked out." A frightening intensity crept into Malfoy's thin face, something that bordered on desperation. "All the strange things this year. I know you've been involved. You're _always _involved," he added disdainfully. 

Rain began to fall, beating out a staccato rhythm on the leaves of the trees and pelting both boys mercilessly. Harry leaned forward slightly as Malfoy lowered his voice. He was close enough to feel the tension in the other's body. Yes, Malfoy was desperate, and Harry knew why. 

"That's all. Tell me what I want, and I'll consider myself paid in full." 

Shocking both himself and Malfoy, Harry began to laugh. The other boy stepped back with undignified haste, looking shaken. He continued to stare at Harry until he subsided. Looking up, Harry was grateful for the cold rain on his face. His outburst had brought tears to his eyes, and not ones of happiness. "I wish it worked that way, Malfoy." He spent the remains of a strained chuckle as he wiped the sleeve of his robe over his glasses. "I wish it as much as you do. I want it to end. But you can't set a payment." 

Confusion flitted across Draco's face before he sneered. "Aren't _you_ the leading expert on wizard's debts." 

Hysterical laughter threatened again. Harry clamped down firmly on it. "You know more than I thought you would." Even to his own ears he sounded distant; condescending. "But I can tell you've never been in one before." The rain drove harder, becoming an obscuring screen. "Why're you asking _me_, anyway? You always know more about everything sooner about everything than half the professors." Malfoy stiffened, and a sharp instinct developed by five years of hostility prompted Harry to pounce. "Not so knowledgeable now that your dad's dead, eh?" 

The violence with which Malfoy lunged and slammed him into the nearest tree was shocking, but even more shocking was the horrified regret that stabbed through Harry the moment the words left his lips. The pain throbbing in the back of his head paled in comparison. He tried frantically to breathe as the wind was knocked out of him. "I'm sorry," he gasped the instant he could speak again. Malfoy's fist was raised, and Harry felt he deserved to be decked. It was a nauseating feeling, as though he had just wounded a dear friend. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it." Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Listen, listen. Malfoy. You...you don't know what you got yourself into. This is..." He swallowed, shaking from a surge of adrenaline. "This is bad. Really bloody bad. I meant it when I thanked you. Just...I know you're feeling it, too. Don't worry about it. Just go with it, or else..." 

Malfoy's hand had dropped and his grip on Harry's dripping robes loosened. "What the hell are you babbling about?" 

Harry reached up to adjust his glasses, which had been knocked askew. He wasn't sure he had an answer to that question. "What else have you heard about wizard's debts? It's more complicated than you just _owning_ me; you know that." Unease flickered in Draco's eyes. "It doesn't matter what's happened before. We're close." 

Malfoy snarled. "We are not _friends_!" The vehemence in his voice was the kind of ferocity that stemmed from fighting against the inevitable. Harry flinched as he was shoved harder back into the tree. "I don't _care_ about you! I couldn't care if you died right now!" There was a choked quality to his words. "I _don't_! Do you hear me? I _DON'T_!" 

For seconds that stretched into minutes, Harry simply let his head hang loose against the trunk of the tree, trying to concentrate on nothing but the raindrops hitting his face. He had nearly ruined everything. He remembered slowly piecing together how to best deal with Malfoy night after night, and when he had finally realized, it had seemed difficult, but still so very feasible. But within moments the situation had spiralled nearly out of his control. Shoving his pride and anger aside, he finally opened his eyes to look at Malfoy. The other boy's white-blonde hair was plastered to his forehead; rain streamed off his chin and nose. He no longer looked angry, only as defeated and shaken as Harry felt. "We don't have a choice," he croaked. Malfoy stumbled back, away from him. "I'm not going to hate you, Draco." 

They stared at each other through the pouring rain. When their breathing had evened, Harry straightened and stood away from the tree, shrugging bruised shoulders with a grimace. He thought he saw Malfoy wince along with him. "It's freezing," he announced, and truthfully. His teeth were chattering. "I'm going in." He paused. "God, we could have just used _Infraredus_." 

Malfoy laughed weakly, then looked surprised at himself. "Never thought of it." 

Harry turned and began walking back towards the grounds. His wet robes stuck to his body with every step he took, hampering his movement. Suddenly, a wet root seemed to thrust from the ground and wrap around Harry's ankle. He lurched forward, too dazed to even shout. In a flash Draco was at his side, stopping his fall by grabbing his elbow. Their gazes met uncertainly, then flickered apart. It was almost embarrassing. Harry tried to concentrate on how cold he was instead. A quick memory of his ordeal in France made him smile dryly. "Going to get hypothermia," he muttered under his breath. 

Malfoy had sharp ears. "Hypothermia? What the bloody hell?" 

Harry wanted to laugh, but was too uncomfortable to. They walked back to Hogwarts in silence, footsteps squishing in the mud. Halfway across the grounds, Harry realized with an insane rush of relief that they were walking side by side. 

**** 

Sopping wet, both boys trudged across the Great Hall, tracking rainwater all the way. When they emerged into the foyer, Malfoy turned to go down into the dungeons. Distracted by debating whether or not to say a simple, "Good-bye," Harry never noticed the cat with spectacle-shaped markings around its eyes. When he did, for the first second he thought it was Mrs. Norris leaping at him. Too late, he gave a startled shout as the feline shifted into Professor McGonagall. 

"And just _what_ were you two doing, may I ask?" 

"OW!" yelped Harry as his ear was caught between two fingers and tugged at sharply. He heard Malfoy make a similar noise as he was dragged back by his soaking hair. 

"I've half a mind to skin you both!" Harry twisted his neck to try and look up at her. McGonagall was the only professor in the school besides Snape that he still needed to raise his eyes to see. Her crooked hat made her seem that much taller. He cringed when he saw her expression. Now he knew what Seamus meant when he had said that she had blown every blood vessel in her body. 

Malfoy tried his best to sound convincing while bent backwards, off balance, and looking like a drowned ferret. "Honestly, Professor, we were just--" 

"We were only out on the grounds, Professor--" 

"That's enough!" McGonagall's shrill voice complemented her outraged glare nicely. Harry nearly fell over as she let go of him. Both boys stood beside her, doing their best to look contrite. "You know better than to be sneaking off into the Forest, especially _you_, Mr. Potter. Twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin! And detention--" McGonagall's mouth twitched as she looked down at the soaking Malfoy, pity flitting across her face. "--for both of you.." 

"Yes, Professor," they mumbled in unison. 

McGonagall reached up to straighten her hat, then took out her wand to dry her robes. "This is Filch's day off," she said to herself, sounding deeply annoyed. She sniffed at Harry and Malfoy, fixing them with a severe stare. "Go down to Professor Snape's room. I expect both of you to have a signed note from him to verify that you have served the next time I see you. Understood?" 

"Yes, Professor." 

"Go." 

McGonagall swept off. Malfoy and Harry looked at each other, then began trudging silently down into the dungeons. The stone walls seemed to emanate cold, making both of them shiver. Malfoy started to his senses first and whisked the water from his clothes with a wave of his wand. Vaguely irked that he hadn't thought of it before, Harry followed suit. "I hope he's in a good mood," he offered. 

"He never is," muttered Malfoy in reply. Harry tried a weak smile that wasn't returned. Until they stopped in front of the door to the Potions room, there was nothing else said. Harry stopped and rolled his shoulders as Malfoy reached for the handle. _Yes. Definitely going to be a bruise there._

Draco noticed the motion from the corner of his eye. He didn't move for a moment. "Sorry about that," he forced through clenched teeth, as though the apology were being dragged from him unwillingly. Harry blinked in surprise. 

"S'all right," he said, just as awkwardly. 

Malfoy tugged at the door. "Locked." He drew his wand. "_Alohomora_." He pulled the door open and slipped in. Harry followed after, and was suddenly very grateful that he was behind Malfoy. Snape was standing behind his desk, finishing the last drops of a purple liquid from a slender vial. He froze as the two boys came in, the bottle at his lips. Harry stopped short and stiffened, his gaze locking with the Potions master's. Snape quickly put the vial down. 

"Yes?" he snapped, looking at them like something bothersome on the bottom of his shoe. 

"Sorry for troubling you, sir," said Malfoy, with sickening sincerity. "Professor McGonagall sent us down for detention." 

Harry continued to stare at Snape as he closed the door silently. Snape looked disgusted. "Is it Filch's day off?" 

"Yes, sir. We need signed notes when we're done." 

Snape glanced at Harry briefly. "Come up here, Mr. Malfoy." He pulled out a piece of parchment and quill. 

"Professor...?" Malfoy walked up to the desk. 

"There." Snape finished writing with a flourish, shook the parchment to dry the ink, then folded it up and handed it to Draco. "You may go." 

Malfoy seemed to hesitate before taking the note. "Thank you, sir." Harry half-expected the other boy to turn around and smirk contemptuously at him, but he didn't. In fact, he brushed past Harry to the door without a glance, but on the threshold he hesitated and looked back, eyes flicking from Harry to Snape. For a moment it seemed he was going to inquire after Harry, but then he turned sharply and hurried out. 

"How fair of you," Harry heard himself say, turning back around and staring not at his teacher, but the empty bottle lying on his desk. "I was thinking you'd want to get rid of _me_." 

Snape followed his gaze and picked the glass vial up between two long fingers. "This isn't what you think it is, Potter." 

"Soulsbane?" he clarified brashly. Snape's black eyes snapped to him sharply. 

"It's a substitute from Madam Pomfrey. Something to curb the effects of withdrawal." 

"Oh. Like patches for smokers." Snape stared at him blankly. "Never mind..." He sat down at a desk. "Is it...?" 

"It serves its purpose," he replied, tersely. 

Harry nodded. The brazenness that had been a result of his initial fear was fast fading away. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, hoping for the first time in his life that Snape would give him an essay to write, or huge cauldrons to clean by hand. Something that would distract him utterly. The guilt was no longer a wave of poisoned needles, but a burden on his shoulders. It was heavy but manageable, for which Harry was grateful. He was sure that he could even ignore it if only he had something to do. 

Snape looked up, and Harry was wondering exactly what he would say when the door scraped open. He jumped when he saw McGonagall. "Professor." She nodded curtly to Snape, then did a faint double-take. "Might I ask where Mr. Malfoy is?" 

"He has been dismissed," replied Snape coldly. 

"I see." McGonagall's lips pressed tightly together. She turned to Harry, reaching into her robes. "The Headmaster was holding this for you, Potter. Apparently you weren't at breakfast and missed the owls." 

Harry stared at the official-looking envelope before taking it from McGonagall. He met the professor's eyes for a moment. She gave the subtlest of nods before sweeping out without a parting word to Snape. Harry winced, thinking that she would probably go after Malfoy's hide. He winced again when he realized he cared. 

"What is it, Potter?" Harry turned around, slightly startled. Snape had moved to within an arm's length of him without a sound. He looked down at the envelope. 

_Mr. Harry Potter_   
_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_   
_Gryffindor Table_

And beneath that, 

**_Of Utmost Importance and_**   
**_In Need of All Discretion_**

The official seal of the Ministry of Magic was stamped in bold ink on the top left corner. Harry bit the inside of his lip. "I wonder," he muttered under his breath sarcastically. 

"That's right; I'd almost forgotten. You're testifying in Weasley's trial," said Snape softly. Harry nodded. "_For_ Weasley?" More sharply. Harry nodded again. The Potions master snorted quietly. "You _are_ a fool boy. You've already half-made an enemy out of Fudge." 

Harry shrugged. "So I'll finish the job. It doesn't matter. It might make Percy look innocent if I defend him. I just know he deserves a second chance." 

"Does he?" Harry looked up in time to see the twist of Snape's lip. 

"You got one," he replied simply. 

The flintiness in the Potions master's eyes faltered for a second. For a moment Harry was certain that he was going to be serving detentions until the last day of school. Snape's breath was not entirely steady. "Touché, Potter," he said stiffly. He turned and began walking toward the front of the room. Harry sighed as he tucked the letter into an inside pocket of his robes. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Why so courteous today?" inquired Snape scathingly without turning around. 

"Harder to be courteous than rude." 

Snape stopped for a moment. Harry thought he saw him nod. "I suppose you'll want your note." 

"What?" Harry watched in surprised gratitude and relief as the other scratched out a few cursory words and signed on a scrap of parchment. "Thank you, sir," he said, walking up to receive it. 

"Wait, Potter." Snape pulled the note back out of Harry's reach. "No matter what is written in the documents in that envelope, do nothing and sign nothing until you have consulted with the Headmaster. Do you understand?" 

_Take charge. Talk, don't just nod._ "Of course." 

Snape's eyebrow arched, a mere twitch. "Good. You may go." 

**** 

An excited mob of students was clustered about the far corner by the steps to the girls' dorm when Harry stepped into the common room. He stopped in confusion. Hermione and an older prefect were pushing through the thick of it. "Get back...give them some air...!" 

Harry ran across the room and shoved forward. The crowd around him began to fall back, heeding the prefects' shouted orders. He almost tripped as he emerged suddenly into the empty space at the center. His heart did a flip-flop. 

A younger Gryffindor boy lay flat on his back, unmoving, stiff as a board and staring up at the ceiling with glassy, unseeing eyes. Unexpected panic overwhelmed him. A moment later he found himself being pushed back by his shoulders. "Get him to Madam Pomfrey!" he heard himself crying. 

"Harry. _Harry_." Geoffery Helbling, the sixth-year prefect, looked almost frightened. Harry straightened and forced a deep breath, aware that the exclamations of those surrounding them had fallen into silence, replaced by alarmed stares. 

"Sorry," he managed, staring down at the boy. A dizzy wave of relief swept through him when he saw the victim's chest rising and falling. He tore his eyes away and looked past Geoffery to Hermione. His friend had Jenny Young, a fourth-year girl, firmly by the arm. "What happened?" 

"It's all right," said Hermione, genuinely concerned but distracted as she shot Jenny a warning glare when the other girl tried to jerk away. "He's just Petrified." 

"I didn't--" 

"Tell Professor McGonagall, Jenny," snapped Hermione. "Geoff, take her, will you?" 

With a curious glance at Harry, Geoff nodded and hauled Jenny off. The incessant murmuring began again. Harry caught bare snatches of it as he knelt down by the Petrified boy. "...can you believe it?...she'll be expelled...good time to do it, at the end of the year...git's had it bloody coming to him..." 

Harry felt Hermione towering over him before she dropped to her knees. She touched him gently on the shoulder. "It's all right," she said again, watching his face worriedly. Harry nodded, swallowing and banishing memories of a young phantom with green eyes and black hair that still haunted his nightmares. There was no Basilisk. 

"Who...what happened?" 

"Ben Swager. Fourth year. I don't know why Jenny Petrified him..." Hermione drew her wand and rested it against Ben's forehead. "_Enervate_." 

"Will that work?" 

"It'll bring him out of it more slowly," she explained briskly. "He's young; we don't want to shock him." She stood up and turned about to face the spectators, clapping her hands. "All right, that's it. Nothing more to see here. Go on." 

Harry stayed crouched by Ben Swager. His eyelids began fluttering as everyone started to disperse, reluctant but unwilling to risk Hermione's wrath. "Hermione." 

Hermione returned to his side and reached out to grab Ben's arm. It gave slightly as she shook gently. "He's loosening up. He'll be all right." She looked at him. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," he replied. After a moment he reached into his robes and showed her the envelope. "This came." 

She took it from him and studied it for longer than necessary. Harry glanced at her sidelong, searching for the familiar gestures: a sharp breath, the furrowed brow. Instead Hermione handed the letter back to him calmly. "It might take an hour to clear all this up." Her voice was quiet but strung with tension. 

"Right. I'll wait for you." 

She looked at him and smiled wearily. "Thank you, Harry." 

A commotion from the entrance of the room made both of them jump up and whirl around. McGonagall stepped through the hole behind the Fat Lady, emerald robes swirling in anger. "What in the name of Merlin is wrong with this House today?" she demanded, sweeping a murderous gaze over all of the students, who stood frozen in fear. Harry's hand automatically fumbled for the signed note from Snape. "Granger!" 

"Professor..." Hermione went forward to McGonagall. The first and second years beat a hasty retreat into the dormitories. Harry watched Hermione explaining to the Transfigurations professor before heading for the stairs as well. Usually he would have stayed and helped, but McGonagall was cross with him already. More importantly, he was tired in a way he had never been since the Alps. 

_It was Malfoy_, he thought as he climbed the staircase. Harry had never thought a confrontation with anyone could be so draining. Returning the few greetings he received absent-mindedly, Harry fairly stumbled to his bed and sat down heavily on it. He hesitated. For several moments he simply stared at the letter from the Ministry, fighting with the urge to rip it open then and there. Then he tucked it away firmly. He would wait for Hermione. 

**** 

Harry awoke to the familiar sounds of the nightly routine. A din of voices came from the open door of the bathroom; many footsteps padded on the carpet of the dorm. Harry sat up, blinking, and stretched. For a moment he simply watched the blurred figures of his Housemates moving about, working his mouth to banish the old taste of sleep. Then he reached for his glasses and blinked several times. He felt an unpleasant jolt as he saw Ron's bed, neatly made and unoccupied. 

"Hey, Neville." His sleepy voice was mellow and preferable to how it usually sounded nowadays. The boy who had once been round-faced and unsure paused and turned toward him. 

"Hm?" 

"Have you seen Hermione?" 

Neville's face contorted into a disgusted expression. "Yeah. She's studying." 

Harry shook his head several times to clear it. "_Studying_?" 

"Yeah. Downstairs with her nose in a book. Can you believe it? Last day's on Wednesday." 

"Thanks, Neville." Harry scrambled off the bed, instantly much less groggy. He reached into the drawer of his bedside stand and grabbed a handful of InsomniMints. He was already to the top of the stairs by the time he popped one into his mouth. The sharp, intensely cold flavor sizzled straight to his brain and brought him wide awake within seconds. He shoved the rest into his pocket, feeling a sneaking suspicion that they would be needed before the night was over. 

He found Hermione sitting at one of the chess tables. The pieces had been pushed to one side in favor of a large book that dominated the board. She glanced up as Harry appeared. The common room was almost empty, with only a few sixth or seventh year stragglers staying up to talk. The fires were burning low, and Harry saw that Hermione was using a strong _Lumos_ charm to help her read. "What're you doing?" he asked as he sat down across from her. "What happened with Jenny and Ben?" 

Hermione blinked, then rolled her eyes skyward. "Oh, that. Ben's been somewhat of a bully, I suppose. Jenny just didn't want to put up with it anymore. McGonagall and the Headmaster are taking care of it..." She pushed her hair back and rubbed at her temples tiredly. "Madam Pomfrey saw Ben and Geoff and I had to stay there and answer questions...they're still paranoid, you know, after the whole thing with Ginny..." She trailed off deliberately. Suddenly she wrinkled her nose. "InsomniMints!" she exclaimed, smelling them on his breath. She held out her hand. Harry gave her one. His friend quickly pressed it into her tongue, shivered, and suddenly looked much refreshed. "Thanks," she said happily, sucking on it with fervor. "My supply's run out. I didn't know what I was going to do. My parents would kill me if they knew--they won't even let me drink coffee." 

Harry tilted his head as he lifted the title cover of the book, using his own wand to read. "_Forget Me Not: A Comprehensive Study on the Effects of Psychological Magic._" He looked up. "What in Merlin's name--" 

"It's about what happens to someone when they're put under Obliviate. Or at least, this chapter is." She indicated the open page. "I mean, we don't really know what happens, but we know _some_, and we know quite a few symptoms and how the victim copes with it psychologically. I was thinking about what you mentioned today. With Snape and Professor Harrison. With everything's that's happened I guess I nearly forgot about his taking..." she lowered her voice, "...Soulsbane. Listen to this. 

"_The degree of trauma of the experience suppressed by the Obliviate curse is indirectly proportional to the likelihood of that experience resurfacing in the victim's mind. However, the greater the trauma, the greater the intensity of the Reversion. _That's what they call the breaking of the curse," she explained. "_The effects of a Reversion can be psychologically devastating_. Umm." She skimmed ahead several lines. "_An Obliviated experience that played an important role in the victim's life is typically remembered in a more explosive fashion and with greater clarity, while an insignificant experience would resurface only gradually, in bits and pieces, and may never be fully recalled. However, keep in mind... _" Hermione pulled a face. "Not the best choice of words. _...keep in mind that a properly cast Obliviate curse is extremely hard to break, therefore a Reversion requires either extraordinary circumstances or an extraordinary will, usually both._" 

Harry found that he had leaned forward, very interested. "What about this?" He laid his finger on a heading in bold type. "Coping Mechanisms." 

"Hm." Hermione quickly read over it. Her eyes narrowed. "That's interesting." 

"What's interesting?" 

"_When confronted with a person somehow involved in the Obliviated experience, events leading up to the Obliviated experience, or the caster of the curse himself, the reactions of known victims have varied greatly, ranging from indifference to loss of composure to severe headaches. Interestingly, those who undergo stronger reactions usually do not remember those reactions, or at least fail to associate such ordeals with the presence of the person that triggers them. It is a widely accepted theory that such a happenstance is a coping mechanism utilized by the victim's mind to maintain an illusion by which the victim's life, personality, and very psyche may have been shaped._" 

A queer burning in his chest made Harry realize he had been holding his breath. He let it out just as he was beginning to get dizzy. Hermione pondered over the book. "That's what Snape got whenever he saw Rys...Professor Harrison, remember? Headaches. I knew it." 

Harry nodded his agreement. "Why would she, though?" he asked, because it would be natural to ask, and he was pleased when he sounded so. 

Hermione looked up at him very deliberately. "I don't know. Why would she?" 

_Not natural enough. _Harry's mind raced before he simply shook his head. They spent nearly a minute in a pointless exercise: Harry avoiding her gaze, Hermione trying to catch his. Finally she shut the book with just enough force to make it violent. "Let's see it, then," she said in a brisk tone that didn't mask her anger. 

"What? Oh! Right." Harry fumbled eagerly for the letter. 

"You didn't open it?" She sounded surprised. 

Harry looked up sharply. "Huh?" 

"I thought you would have opened it already. I took so long getting back." The hard look in Hermione's eyes softened. 

"Oh. No. I said I'd wait." Harry finished slitting the top of the envelope open and shook its contents out onto the chessboard as Hermione put _Forget Me Not_ on the floor. He took the neatly folded packet of parchments and smoothed it out. "_Mr. Harry Potter,_" he read in a discreet murmur from the letter that rested on top, "_Please be notified that you are expected to provide testimony at the trial of Percy Weasley, presently scheduled for the month of July. Enclosed are documents essential to your ability to participate in the trial. Please follow all instructions concerning these documents carefully and return them promptly. Be aware that you are of Pivotal Witness status and carrying out this trial in a smooth and timely manner may be hinged on your cooperation._

"_If you have any questions or concerns, please direct them by owl post to The Ministry of Magic, Legal Affairs..._" Harry trailed off, skipping the address. "_Sincerely yours, Cornelius Fudge._" 

There was a blank silence in which Harry continued to stare at the letter. Hermione's gaze was fixed upon the edge of the table. Then Harry tossed the parchments onto the chess board with a faint air of disgust. "_Sincerely yours_, my--" 

"Did Fudge really...?" Hermione grabbed the letter and scanned it. She sat back, eyes wandering in worried thought. "God," she breathed softly. "He really wants Percy found guilty." 

"Of course he does." 

"It'd be better if he at least tried to cover it up," she said bitterly. 

"_What_?" 

She smiled briefly. "Politics, Harry. You can tell what Fudge is more concerned about by what he's trying to do. If he had really had the Ministry's interests at heart--the _Ministry's_, not the magical world's--he would be hushing this trial up, or settling it outside of court, or burying this entire thing altogether. They're already split into two factions; the best thing to do right now is to reunite them." 

Harry found that he was leaning forward, interested. "But he's making noise. Pointing fingers." 

"Exactly," replied Hermione grimly. "He only cares about saving face. His ego. Discrediting Ron's family and their supporters so that his faction will secure the upper hand. I don't think he even realizes that we're all on the same side anymore. That's just what..." She shivered a bit. "...what You-Know-Who wants." 

Harry glanced up to make sure that no one was eavesdropping and was mildly surprised when he saw that the common room had emptied. He sighed and reached for the rest of the papers. "Let's see..." He shuffled through them, unwrapping another InsomniMint as he did so. Two of the documents needed to be filled out with standard information. A third was a list of questions that Harry didn't even bother to read. He saw that all three required his signature, but it was the last one that made him frown. The form was headed _Underage Witness Permission_. A guardian needed to sign. 

Sirius was out of the question, and the Dursleys... 

"Hey, Hermione..." Harry broke off abruptly as he looked up and saw Hermione intently reading a parchment he hadn't noticed before. He glanced down at the chess table. Fudge's letter was still lying there. "What's that?" 

"It fell on the floor," she explained, matching his sharpness with her own but sounding distracted at the same time. Her eyes suddenly widened and she seemed to read over the same place several times, as though not believing what she had seen. 

"What?" persisted Harry, reaching for it. 

"It's a letter from Percy's lawyer." Hermione passed it to him with an odd look on her face. Shooting her an equally odd glance, Harry took it and began to read. 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_My thanks for agreeing to testify in defense of Percy Weasley, whom I will be representing in his trial. As I'm sure you already know, your position as a witness is a unique one. Be assured that you will not enter the trial unprepared. The situation is complex, and for that reason I am requesting an appointment with you. Kindly let me know what time and day would be best. Keep in mind that the sooner we can meet, the more time I will have to organize Mr. Weasley's case._

_Please don't hesitate to ask questions. Feel free to owl back to me at any time._

_Sincerely,_   
_Laura Ranone_

**** 

In Defense Against the Dark Arts the next day, even Rysk needed to expend some effort to keep her class' attention. The only train of thought running through anyone's mind was the Hogwarts Express, which they would board in six days for summer holiday. Harry was no exception, but unlike Dean Thomas, who had been talking nonstop about the football league he would be playing for, the Boy Who Lived was wondering how he was going to survive the summer. 

"Take one and pass it back," said Professor 'Harrison', dropping a pile of papers onto the front desk of each row. Her eyebrows rose imperceptibly as several students began murmuring. 

"What is _this_?" said Neville Longbottom as he took the stack from the Slytherin girl in front of him. (Rysk had made it quite clear early in the year that there would be no 'segregation' in her classroom). He blanched when he realized that he had spoken too loudly. 

"They're xeroxed pieces of _paper_, Longbottom." She spoke with an indifference that still made Neville squirm. There was a moment of silence as the witch's eyes landed on Harry, who was staring at something in his lap, unaware of the papers on his desk. Rysk walked to stand over him without making a sound. "We're starting my end of the year announcements right now. First, for gods' sakes, take Muggle Studies next year, especially if you're," she formed air-quotes with her fingers, "pure-blood." Most of the Slytherins and a few of the Gryffindors shifted. "Someone tell me whose world this is. Ours or theirs?" 

"Ours," responded Draco Malfoy instantly. 

"Really, Malfoy." Amusement ran under the words. "Why are _we_ hiding from _them_, then?" Rysk scrutinized her class coldly. "Muggles are there. They have power. They are people with brains...for the most part. And not all of them are cattle to be herded. Get that through your heads, otherwise you're all going to have one hell of a nasty shock when no one's holding your hands anymore." She paused for a moment, staring down at Harry, who in turn was still completely oblivious to the room around him. All the Gryffindors (and Malfoy) cringed, but no one dared to say anything. 

"The reality," at that word, her upper lip curled slightly, as if she didn't even consider those in the room capable of understanding the concept, "is that more people use paper," without even bothering to utter the incantation, Professor 'Harrison' summoned the documents from the Ministry into her hand and held them up, "than parchment." 

Harry's head jerked up. He instinctively reached for the letters, too startled to even protest. Rysk only turned away and walked back to the front of the room. "See me after class, Potter." 

Trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, Harry glanced across the room and met Hermione's eyes, who looked every bit as panicked as he. "Hey, Harry," hissed the boy behind him, poking him in the shoulder, "Pass those back." 

Harry carelessly threw them over his shoulder, barely remembering to take one for himself. He was numb, staring at Rysk as she glanced over the parchments. Even now, after nine months, he was amazed by her poker face. She tossed them into a drawer with complete indifference and never looked his way again throughout the entire class. 

"...anyway, those are just extras along with the basics. Nice to learn. If you're really into it, practice over the summer." More than one student was flipping through his or her packet with mild interest by the time Rysk was done explaining. The small silver bell on her desk leapt into the air and rang, punctual as always. "Dismissed. Potter," she added in a warning tone over the din of mass departure. Harry stood and pushed in the opposite direction of everyone else, approaching her desk warily. On his way he caught Malfoy's eye. He made a point of genuinely smiling at him. The other boy quickly looked away. 

"Interesting papers, Potter." Rysk was sitting on her desk, twirling a quill through her fingers. Watching her, Harry suddenly realized what about the witch made most people instantly dislike her: every posture and movement spoke of an impossible irreverence. She looked over Harry's head to the back of the now-quiet room. "Don't you have somewhere to be, Granger?" 

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Hermione was lingering in the doorway, watching them steadily. "I'm just waiting for Harry, ma'am." 

"Potter will be late, Granger. Go on." Rysk waved her hand. The door closed in Hermione's face. Harry spun around, an angry protest on his lips. He bit it back with difficulty, knowing that he would only be wasting his breath. She was already skimming over the parchments. 

"How do you do that?" 

"Do what?" she responded without looking up, moving Fudge's letter to the back. 

"Magic without your wand." 

"You don't need your wand to do magic, Potter. It's only the other ninety-nine percent that do." She glanced up at him. "You know that already. You unlocked Lupin's cage without..." She stopped abruptly, narrowing her eyes at the parchment. A hiss came through her teeth. Her next class began pouring into the room. 'Harrison' gave the Hufflepuffs a cursory nod before looking back to Harry. "Who hell is the Laura Ranone?" she demanded in an undertone. Harry shook his head. Rysk's lips thinned into a hard line. "Bravo, Fudge," she muttered disgustedly before handing the documents back to Harry. The ring of the bell pierced through the background din as she did so. "Go see the Headmaster." 

Harry's hand paused in tucking the parchments back into his robes. "But--" 

"Password's 'peaches'n'cream'. Don't even ask," she added, briefly matching Harry's nonplussed expression. "Just go." Before Harry could say another word, she stood. The entire class of third-years fell silent. Harry quietly snuck out as she began to address them. "Okay, who remembers what a Boggart is?" 

Harry allowed himself to turn around and grin at the sight of every single hand raised. Then he closed the door behind him. 

_Peaches'n'cream_, thought Harry as he walked down the hallway, shaking his head in consternation. _He really is mad._

Unbidden, a memory of his very first day at Hogwarts came to mind. _"Mad?" said Percy. "He's the most brilliant wizard alive! But yes, I suppose he is a bit mad."_

Harry stopped in the middle of the empty hallway, struck another pang of sadness. He tried to laugh at himself. Nostalgia at fifteen years old. It was ridiculous. Still, standing alone in the vast castle he called home, he couldn't help feeling how much simpler things had been when they had all been young. 

_Ron was just Ron back then. My best friend. Chess wizard extraordinaire. Hermione was a bookworm, impossibly smart, but not...dangerous like she is now. And Percy was ambitious. Ambitious with a stick up his ass. God, we didn't know what ambitious _was_. Didn't know that he wasn't in Gryffindor for nothing. Didn't know that he would fight with everything he had for what he believed in, even if it meant abandoning his own family. And I..._

_I..._

"Morning, Potter." 

Harry spun around. There was Argus Filch, peering at him suspiciously. Mrs. Norris sat at his feet. "Not skipping class, are you?" 

For a moment Harry was confused as to why Filch wasn't gleefully attacking him with the accusation. Then he remembered: the groundskeeper was a Squib, and he knew that Harry knew. He deliberately smiled and watched the wariness in Filch's face turn to resentment and apprehension. The hair on Mrs. Norris's haunches stood on end. "No," he replied evenly. "I'm going to see the Headmaster." 

"Eh?" said Filch, limping forward a step or tow. "Let's see your pass, then." 

"I don't have one," he said coldly. "You can go with me, if you want to make sure." 

Filch's face screwed up in a glare, but before he could say anything several hollow _conks!_ rang out. Filch's head jerked forward with each one. Harry stared at the spiny chestnut shells on the ground and fought laughter. 

"PEEVES!" roared Filch. An all-too-familiar cackle echoed from farther down the corridor. Mrs. Norris yowled and hissed and took off after the poltergeist, with Filch hobbling at top speed behind her. "Peeves! You've laughed your last, you dim-witted nuisance of an imp! I'll call the Baron, I will!" The old man whipped about a second later. "Potter...!" 

Harry was already gone, having wasted no time in making good his escape. He jumped five steps down to the second floor as the staircase began to change under him. He landed with a painful jar to his knees and hastened to the stone gargoyle. 

"Peaches'n'cream," he said to it, glancing nervously over his shoulder. When he turned back the wall had opened to reveal the spiralling staircase. He took the steps two at a time and knocked loudly on the oak door. 

"Come in," called a bemused voice. The door swung open before Harry's fingertips could touch them. Dumbledore was standing before one of the many portraits in the room. He turned. "Ah, Harry. Please. Excuse me, Regina," he said to the old Headmistress in the frame. 

"Not to worry, not to worry," she replied in a wobbly voice. "I've tea with Dorris this hour, anyway." And with that she disappeared. 

Harry groped behind himself to close the door, only to find that it had already shut on its own. "Well, Harry," Dumbledore regarded him amiably over his spectacles, "exactly who gave you the password to my office? And without a pass, I see." 

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "I think you can guess, sir." 

Dumbledore nodded. "Hm. Yes, I think I can, as well. Very well, what can I help you with? Oh! It nearly slipped my mind. Your godfather wanted me to say goodbye to you for him. I'm sorry you couldn't see him before he left." 

"It's all right," lied Harry. 

"How are you holding up, Harry?" he inquired, sounding concerned. 

"I'm holding up, sir," he replied with a note of self-deprecation. 

Dumbledore studied him with piercing blue eyes before moving to his desk and sitting down. "I'm glad to hear it. Well then." 

"These," explained Harry succinctly, crossing the office and holding out the parchments from the Ministry. "They said I should show them to you." 

"They?" repeated the Headmaster mildly as he read over the letters carefully. "Please, sit down," he added, waving at a chair sitting to one side. 

"Well, Professor Harrison and...Snape..." Harry watched the old wizard carefully, absent-mindedly taking out his wand and summoning the chair. 

"I see..." Interest swept over Dumbledore's face. By this time, Harry knew the cause of it. 

"Do you know who she is?" he asked quietly, sitting down. 

The Headmaster was silent for a good stretch of time, absently stroking his beard. "Yes...and no." He tapped the papers thoughtfully against his desk. "I do know that Paul Ranone comes from a rather extensive family. Laura Ranone could be a relative of his." His face darkened. "Most likely a close one." 

Harry furrowed his brows. Dumbledore saw his confused expression and clarified. "You see, Harry, our Minister Fudge wants rather badly for Percy to be found guilty of being a Death Eater. The lack of a tattoo on his arm is but a minor inconvenience in the hands of a competent prosecutor." 

"But Percy's attorney--she's good?" 

The Headmaster frowned and read over her name again, as if the thin signature held a clue. "I do not know. What I do know is that Paul's sister, cousin, aunt..." He sighed. "You see, I do not remember her at Hogwarts. Granted, the school is vast and I do not know every student by heart, but to have no recollection whatsoever..." 

"She might have gone to school somewhere else," suggested Harry. 

"Mm. Yes. That is a possibility. In any case, I'm afraid Laura Ranone's last name is no coincidence, and that she was assigned to this trial to further discredit Percy. Fudge has disassociated the Ministry from Paul Ranone as quickly and completely as possible. He is now blacklisted, condemned, evil incarnate. What credibility will a lawyer for an accused Death Eater have when she herself is related to one?" 

Harry nodded as light dawned. "I get it. The Weasleys can't even afford to...God, the bastards," he finished under his breath. Dumbledore chuckled. He flushed, embarrassed. "Er...sorry, sir..." 

"You said it, not I," replied the Headmaster, blue eyes twinkling. "Now, let's see here...ah, yes, a guardian's permission. I can see where you might have difficulties there. Your family--" 

"They're not my family." 

"--won't cooperate?" 

"I could _make_ them." When Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, he went on, "They know I have a serial murderer for a godfather." He winced inwardly, wondering if that had been the right thing to disclose. To his relief, the old wizard smiled. 

"Very good, then. If the threat of a madman wielding a wand isn't enough for them, contact me. I can make arrangements." 

"Yes, sir." He hesitated, watching the Headmaster glance over the rest of the documents. "Um...Professor Snape told me not to sign anything without asking you first." 

Dumbledore's mouth quirked wryly as his eyes danced in amusement. "Did he, now? Ever cautious, our Potions Master. Let's see here..." 

Harry's fingers clenched impulsively. He felt strangely disconnected for a moment as he stared at Dumbledore. Long silver beard, long silver hair, a kind face and gentle manner. Impossibly powerful but, for as long as Harry had known him, always benign, always an ally. A year ago, Harry would not have believed any wrongdoing possible of the Headmaster. But now... 

_You arranged it,_ he thought, feeling hollow. Anger rushed in to fill the vacuum. _Or you went along with it. How could you...? How could you be so cruel?_

"Well. I see no catches." Dumbledore straightened the stack of parchments and handed them over the desk to Harry. "It's illegal for any manner of Hidden Condition to be used on legal documents, so don't be too anxious." 

Harry blinked. "You mean like fine print?" 

"Fine print. Ah, yes, the very small writing that's all over Muggle advertisements?" Harry nodded. "Yes, Hidden Conditions are similar, only both easier and harder to expose. Easier because a wave of your wand and the proper spell will reveal them as clear as day. Harder because...well, out of sight, out of mind, as the saying goes." 

"Oh." 

Dumbledore twisted around in his chair to check the strange clock behind it, then peered at Harry over his spectacles. "What class are you missing right now?" 

"History," replied Harry dryly, summoning enough boldness to reach for a quill standing in a holder. 

Dumbledore's lips quirked. "I see." He pushed an inkwell to Harry's edge of the desk. "In that case, perhaps you should fill out as much as you can now. In case there _are_ any problems." 

Harry grinned in spite of himself, touched by the old wizard's wry humor. His anger had evaporated, lingering as a half-remembered mist. He scooted forward slightly so that he could use the desk. As the quill-tip scratched across the parchment, forming his name and date of birth with painstaking neatness, the notion to press further about Ron and Ginny and the twins entered his head. When the ink began to become faint, Harry reached out to dip the quill again. "Sir?" Dumbledore looked up from a copy of _The London Times_. Harry blinked in surprise before sharply gathering his thoughts. "Look, I know that Voldemort's _after_ Ron's family. But...it's too easy. We caught them too easily. They can't be that stupid." Almost unconsciously, he hardened his gaze on the Headmaster. "There's more, there has to be more. What's going _on_?" 

Dumbledore gave a hearty laugh. "Please, please," he managed, gradually sobering when he saw the confused and slightly nettled expression on Harry's face. "I do not find the Weasley family's situation amusing in the least." He looked kindly at him. "It is the fact that you find the prevention of a plot on Ron's life 'too easy'. I'm not being sarcastic," he added quickly when Harry stiffened. "You continue to impress me every year, Harry. Although, if things had gone my way, you would have never had an opportunity to do so." He smiled a brief, sad smile. Harry found himself mirroring it, understanding. Dumbledore laid the paper down. "In all seriousness, Harry, I simply do not know. And it worries me, it truly worries me." 

"Fudge himself...?" suggested Harry a little diffidently. 

"It's the obvious answer, isn't it? Too obvious." The Headmaster sighed. "No. To a degree, it makes sense. But Cornelius...he is not so reckless nor blind to politics. He would have known that the world would instantly suspect him should anything happen--or almost happen--to Arthur Weasley and his family." 

"But if he's become Voldemort's puppet--" 

"Then, like you, I doubt we would have received any warning at all, until it was far too late. Not with our sources inside the Ministry as extremely thin as they are. I suspect..." 

Harry frowned at Dumbledore's hesitation. "Go on. I can hear this." 

Something in his tone made the old wizard look sharply at him. Then his face settled into resignation. "You'll have to forgive this old man, Harry. He has a bad habit of always protecting people when there is nothing to be done for them, and not protecting those in need of it enough. Sometimes I forget how involved you already are in this mess." 

_Can't get much worse,_ agreed Harry silently, seeing the way Dumbledore's shoulders bent slightly under an invisible burden. He suddenly wanted to say something to comfort him, but somehow knew that there was nothing he could ever say. And so he watched, waiting. 

"I suspect that there may be a third party involved, some emerging faction in the Ministry or simply someone with their own agenda. Contrary to what many believe, Mr. Weasley does have a tidy list of enemies." 

"I believe it," said Harry emphatically, picking up the quill and idly writing his home address down. "But who...?" 

Dumbledore sighed heavily and with more than a little frustration. "I don't know, Harry. I don't know." 

Harry opened his mouth once or twice, looking for words that would not make him sound like a broken record. In the end he said nothing and looked down again at the half-completed form. At length he heard Dumbledore push back from the desk and walk a little ways to his left. When he heard the sound of a heavy stone bowl being set down, his hand froze. He risked an upwards glance. There was no mistaking the cold, foggy vapors of the Pensieve as they rose and curled above the Headmaster's hands. Forcing himself to relax, Harry reached out to re-ink the quill (which was in no need of re-inking) and glanced up quizzically as he did so, hoping his apprehension didn't show in his face. Dumbledore was humming a whimsical tune as he placed several silvery strands of thought down into the bowl. His eyes caught Harry's as he raised his wand to his temple again. For one moment, the mirthful sparkle was replaced by hard scrutiny. 

With a chill, Harry remembered being jerked from the Pensieve by an emotionless Carmen Rysk. She had not said a word to Harry, but had she to Dumbledore? He stared up at the old man longer than he should have, searching for any sign, any clue. It suddenly occurred to him that Rysk might not have known, for certain, what he had seen in the Headmaster's memories. It was possible that Dumbledore did not know, either. 

Not for certain. 

_What would you do?_ demanded Harry silently. _Sirius trusted me to do the right thing...he trusted me to tell. Do you, too? Do you trust me to hand Voldemort back a Death Eater that could destroy us all? Do you think I'm that stupid, or is everyone else stupid?_

Despite his resentment, Harry found himself tempted, suddenly and agonizingly tempted, to confess. To spill his troubles and allow Albus Dumbledore to deal with them, because he could deal with everything. It would be a relief beyond description to confide in someone who could tell him what to do, unlike Hagrid. 

There it was. The Headmaster was inviting him to say the words, to betray himself; he was offering sanctuary. All because he did not know for certain. It would so easy. So easy... 

The moment shattered. Dumbledore pulled an iridescent wisp out of his head by the tip of his wand. Harry looked away and signed his name. 

**** 

After dinner, Harry escaped the rush to the common rooms and went straight out into the evening. As had been indicated by the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, the summer sky was still painted a deep lavender by lingering rays of sunlight; but night was fast approaching, and even as Harry crossed the grounds the darkness deepened, the first stars began to flicker into being, and a light dew started gathering on the grass. 

He reached Hagrid's hut and stood before the massive door, biting his lip. He lifted his hand but arrested it in mid-air, with wrist still cocked to knock. He sighed and rapped three times against the wood. To his relief, Fang's familiar bark reached his ears, followed by a gruff, muffled admonition from the dog's owner. After a moment the door swung open to reveal Hagrid towering in its frame with a firm grip on Fang's collar. The giant dog immediately began to whine in pleasure when it recognized Harry. 

"Harry!" exclaimed the half-giant in surprise. He moved aside. "Come in, come in." 

"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry. "Thanks." 

Hagrid heaved the door to against the night air, mumbling under his breath as was his habit. Fang bounded over to Harry happily, demanding to be petted. "Now then." Harry looked up from scratching Fang's ears to see Hagrid peering down at him. "What in Merlin's name are you doin' out here?" 

"I thought you might want help packing up," he replied, using the excuse he had prepared just moments before. 

Hagrid looked nonplussed. "What's this now?" 

"You know. All the professors are packing up now that it's the end of the year and I thought that...with your Care of Magical Creatures and everything..." 

"Oh." Hagrid reached up to rub the back of his head. "Well, I 'preciate it an' all, Harry, but there's not much to be packed. I live 'ere year round. Headmaster Dumbledore ought to know that. I wonder why 'e sent you all the way--" 

"He didn't send me, Hagrid," said Harry. 

Hagrid was alarmed. "You mean you don't have a pass?" 

Harry took a long look around before answering. The wooden walls of the hut were thrown into shadow; what little light there was came from three or four burning candles. The air in here was dry and a bit cooler than it had been outdoors. But most importantly, Hagrid's hut was quiet. 

Fang whined and nuzzled his hand. "No," Harry told his friend calmly, distantly. "I don't have a pass." 

Hagrid tried to form a few words of protest, all of which died as flustered sounds behind his great bushy beard. He fell into silence and studied Harry, who was looking at Fang, for a several moments. "Sit yerself down, then," he finally ordered gruffly. Harry dragged one of the heavy wooden chairs back from the high table and climbed up onto it. He leaned forward onto his elbows and dropped his chin into his hands, never minding that his glasses were jarred askew. Fang came over and laid his head in Harry's lap. 

Frowning, Hagrid walked away to the back of the hut. He returned with a cup of tea and placed it in front of Harry carefully, for his huge hands nearly engulfed the entire mug. The steam rising from the cup and fogging his glasses made Harry blink. He raised his head slowly, coming out of a reverie. "Bit warm for a fire, isn't it?" He scanned the hut for it, wondering how Hagrid had managed to build one without his noticing. 

Hagrid had sitten down across from him, looking at Harry with concern. "Don't need one." He reached beside himself and lifted up the pink umbrella with a brief grin. "M'afraid it's not as good as real brewed tea. I prefer doin' it the Muggle way--this spell don't make it nearly strong enough." 

Harry had taken a sip, braced for a very bitter taste, and nearly laughed into the drink when he encountered a very pleasant peppermint flavor. "No," he assured Hagrid quickly, "this is fine. Really." 

The half-giant looked mildly relieved. "Now then. What's wrong, Harry?" 

Sip. "Nothing." Another sip. "I just need to think." Keep sipping. 

"You'll get int' trouble." 

Harry snorted. "It's the last bloody week of school. No one cares." 

Hagrid bristled. "Now--now--" 

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry, Hagrid. I just need to think. It's too...noisy in the school." 

The half-giant twisted his hands, watching Harry anxiously. "Do you...do you need t' talk about it?" he offered carefully. When Harry only stared at him blankly, he hastened to go on. "I've been worried about you, 'arry, ever since you told me that...well..."   
Vaguely, Harry was aware that his face was lacking an expression, but he doubted he could find the energy to force one. This seemed to unnerve Hagrid even more. "I know how it feels, don't you be thinkin' that I don't. I've known for...Merlin's beard, for too long. It tears a body up inside. Even now, sometimes I can't look him in the eye." 

"Do you think it's funny?" asked Harry quietly. 

Hagrid scowled confusedly. "What?" He glanced at Harry's hands warily. They had clenched compulsively around his mug, as though seeking to break it. 

"Do you think it's funny?" repeated Harry, and this time his voice was truly unsettling, like the thick, unbearable calm before a storm. It filled the hut with a sudden chill. "I think it's all a joke. A huge, sick, cosmic joke that some _bastard _out there is laughing at because he thinks it's all just so damn _funny_. Maybe he's right." The frightening undercurrent, which had been disturbingly calm, began to rise in pitch and volume. "Maybe it's hilarious when your Mum and Dad get murdered. Don't you think? It must be bloody _hysterical_ when you think you've killed them!" 

Fang whimpered and slunk away. "Now...now, Harry--" 

"I have to look at him!" he yelled. "I HAVE TO LOOK AT HIM EVERYDAY AND THINK THAT IT COULD HAVE BEEN ME!" He dropped his forehead into his hands and shut his eyes, shuddering once and breathing heavily. "It _was_ me. It was." 

Hagrid didn't say a word. 

After a while--a long while--the half-giant took up his umbrella and zapped Harry's tea, which had gone stone cold. Harry jumped, then let out a faint but forceful laugh. "All right there, Harry?" asked Hagrid gently. 

Harry smiled gratefully up at his friend. "Yeah," he said ruefully through a hoarse throat, "m'all right." He brought the newly warmed cup to his lips with something akin to relief. The edged burst of peppermint helped his mood a bit. "Sorry about that." 

Hagrid waved him off. "None of that, now. These're hard times. You remember what I tol' you. What's comin' is comin', but whatever it is, we're all facin' it together." 

"Yeah, Hagrid." Harry took one last gulp of his tea and hopped off the chair. "Thanks." 

"Anytime, Harry. You remember that now. Anytime." 

Harry nodded and started to leave. Right on the threshold, as the warm night air hit him, he stopped and turned back. "Hagrid?" 

"Eh?" 

"You haven't told the Headmaster, have you?" 

Hagrid looked aghast. "No! I'd never. An' I feel right down low and dirty about it, too, but I'd never." 

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you." 

**** 

Harry hoped that no one had missed him, though he very much doubted such luck. A year ago he would have been afraid of getting into trouble. Now he simply didn't want to bother with anyone. Whether it was McGonagall or Colin Creevy that he encountered made little difference. By the time he reached the castle his robes had begun to stick to his skin. The cooler air of the Great Hall was a welcome change. 

The tables were completely empty. Harry wished he had thought to stash his Invisibility cloak before sneaking out. He glanced around. The Hall was lit only by the torches guttering on the walls and the stars in the ceiling. There was no sign of Filch or Mrs. Norris. He would have to chance Peeves. Even so, he still felt vaguely uneasy, fancying that he sensed someone watching him. 

Halfway across, a cold drawl from the shadows caused Harry to nearly jump out of skin. "You like sneaking, don't you, Potter?" 

Harry bit his lip (and cut it) to muffle his shout. An instant after he had drawn his wand, he recognized Malfoy's voice. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in a frantic hiss. 

Malfoy came forward into the torchlight. "I saw you," he said simply. 

"What?" 

"I saw you going to the big oaf's." 

Harry ignored the slight towards Hagrid, for now. "How? Are you stalking me, Malfoy?" 

Malfoy sneered, but the usual edge seemed lacking. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter." Harry stared at the other boy for a moment, then shrugged and turned a cold shoulder. As he had predicted, he didn't go five steps before Malfoy said quickly, "I was up in the Astronomy Tower." 

Harry stopped and tossed him an odd glance. "The Astronomy Tower?" 

Malfoy looked a bit uncomfortable. "The Grey Lady doesn't mind." 

Harry was more or less certain that Draco did not risk being caught by Filch at night to stargaze, especially since he had to have been looking _down_ to have seen him crossing the grounds. His suspicions deepened when he noticed for the first time that Malfoy was wearing his black mourning robes--robes he had stopped wearing months ago. He decided not to comment for the time being. "What do you want?" 

Malfoy's eyes flicked around, buying as much time as possible before having to reply. In the end, he shrugged. Harry sighed. He had been wrong: there was one person he could bother with, the one tied to him by a wizard's debt. 

"You want to talk?" he offered, trying to be more open but still feeling awkward. 

Draco's jaw clenched. "Why the hell not," he said grudgingly. 

Harry hesitated. They didn't want any trouble from Filch and his damned cat... "Come on." 

He led Malfoy to the suit of armor that sat back against the wall by the marble staircase. As the other boy watched he cast a hasty Silencing Charm, then searched in the dark for the latch behind the suit. He found it; after a moment the empty knight and a portion of the wall behind it slid aside without a sound. Harry glanced at Draco. He was staring into the secret room beyond with an inscrutable expression. Harry walked in. Malfoy followed a second later. 

"_Lumos_," said Malfoy, after Harry had found the silver latch on the inside by feel and sealed the entrance. Harry lit his wand as well, then sat down with his back against the cold stones. 

"Well." Harry watched as Malfoy found the spiralling staircase and seated himself on the third or fourth step. The other boy's face was illuminated only by a soft glow as he held the wand under his chin. When he remained silent, Harry prompted, "You wanted to talk. What about?" 

"I...I don't know." Malfoy scowled at himself. "Did you get in much trouble with Harrison?" 

Harry was almost too tired to raise an eyebrow. Almost. "Not really. She only tried to kill me again." 

He was pleased when he saw Draco's mouth twitch slightly at the joke, as though he had made Ron or Hermione laugh. Then he was angry for being pleased. Harry was thoroughly and unpleasantly confused within seconds. 

"What on _earth_ were you reading?" said Malfoy. "Must have been fascinating." 

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged. "Note from a friend." 

"Not bloody likely, Potter," he drawled. "You and your little friends are bloody telepathic." Harry's head jerked up as he sensed the bitter resentment in Malfoy's voice. "What were you reading?" Harry sighed, not breaking their gazes, and shook his head. In spite of his own earlier outburst, he was completely unprepared for Draco's sudden anger. "What," the other boy snarled, standing abruptly, "do you think I'm going to go tell You-Know-Who?" 

Harry remembered a disturbing flash of memory from his second year, when he and Ron had used Polyjuice Potion to sneak into the Slytherin common room as Crabbe and Goyle. "Don't tell me you haven't done it before," he replied gently. 

The lack of judgement in Harry's tone offset Malfoy for a moment before he glared and spat. "Who am I going to tell now? My father's dead, Potter." His voice thickened and faltered at the mention of Lucius. 

Harry eyed Malfoy's black robes. "Did you love him?" he asked, half to himself. 

Draco stopped and blinked. "What?" 

"Your father. Did you love him?" He gestured. "You're wearing black again." 

To his surprise, Malfoy sat back down as though he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. He pulled the black robes tighter about himself. Harry suddenly suspected he had hit the mark. He also suddenly wanted to end the conversation right then and there. Unfortunately, Malfoy took away any chance of escape by surprising him yet again and answering the question. 

"I don't know." He seemed unbearably disgusted with himself, glaring into the dark, away from Harry's eyes. "I guess that's why I was up there. I was wondering if I did. Or if he loved me." 

Harry took a breath, shoving away the automatic urge to say several very cruel things. He would not see this bond go the way his and Pettigrew's had; the way Rysk and Sirius's had. Never mind that he did not hold the upper hand in the debt this time. He could not let the opportunity to pull Malfoy away from Voldemort's service slip by. "I'm sure he did," he said carefully. "You were his only one, weren't you?" 

"I think so." 

Harry made a quiet, disbelieving noise. "He _must_ have..." 

"What would you know?" Malfoy lashed out again with derision. "You didn't even have real parents." 

Harry was on his feet before he knew what was happening, acting on blind anger. "You shut up about them! What kind of ungrateful git are you? You're right, you're right," he spat furiously, "I never had mine. You _did_; you still have one! You don't know how lucky you are! How could you _not _love him?!" 

"Because he was always pushing me to be better than YOU!" 

The force of Draco's shriek made Harry step back and run his head into the wall. He stared at the other boy as he brought his hand up to rub the forming bruise. Malfoy's cold eyes were burning with a hateful fire. He was eerily still; the only thing that betrayed him were his hands fisting in the material of his robes. "You know that's why I saved you? He would have wanted me to let you die and then laugh at you and I was sick of doing what he always wanted concerning you! I was _sick_ of you! I didn't want to see you, hear about you, think about you, but that's all he would talk about! Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that, why can't I do what Harry fucking Potter did...!" 

Harry gaped at him. 

"I had to beat you." Now Harry was forced to walk forward to hear what Draco was saying. "That's all, I had to beat you, and then he'd love me." He laughed mirthlessly. "I couldn't even let you die." 

In the silence that followed, Harry cautiously moved closer until he was leaning against the railing, his line of sight level with Malfoy's profile. "Why're you telling me this?" No answer. "Do you still want to beat me?" 

Malfoy shook his head, swallowing. "No." A pause. "I didn't know...didn't think...when I grabbed you..." He swore viciously. "I just want you to stop mattering. I'm sick of you mattering." 

"That's not going to be possible." 

"Thank you, Potter, I needed reminding." 

Harry searched the other's expression. "Don't tell me this is why you wanted to talk." 

Malfoy sighed and hunched forward, staring down at the stairs. "I don't know what the bloody hell I wanted to talk about. I think I might be going mad." Harry made a dry but understanding sound. "You said you weren't going to hate me." He looked up into Harry's face. "So what are you going to do now, Potter?" 

Harry dropped his gaze, thinking. "We have to be careful, you know," he said at last. "This kind of thing can be...dangerous. It's happened to me before. I still don't like you very much. But we can shoot for friends." He kept his eyes averted, hating how vulnerable he felt, hating how feverently he was hoping that Draco would accept him. He suddenly understood why Malfoy so desperately wanted him to stop existing. 

Malfoy took a breath. "Right," he said coldly, trying and failing to hide the apprehension in his voice, "Friends. I take back what I said in the Forest, then. We can shoot for friends." 

**** 

Half of his House was in bed by the time Harry got back to the common room. A few night owls, mostly older students, glanced up at his entrance. _Forget Me Not_ was the first thing he saw as he scanned the room, lying on the same chess table he and Hermione had sat at last night. It was open. Hermione must have done some more reading. Harry felt a prickle of uneasiness as he began to walk to the book. Hermione was uncommonly smart. He wouldn't put it past her to figure everything out on her own with a few facts gleaned from a dry tome. 

"Hullo, Harry." 

Harry jumped and spun around. Rosie Hether was sitting in one of the overstuffed armchairs. He hadn't noticed her before. The older girl smiled. "Scare you?" 

He grinned sheepishly. "A bit," he admitted. 

"Where've you been? Out sneaking?" she asked, returning his grin. 

For one disconcerting moment, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Rosie's gaze was a bit more intense than it should have been. Then it passed, and he was sure it was only his tired mind playing tricks on him. "Yeah," he said. "What time is it?" 

" 'Round nine-thirty. You're a lucky git, Harry. Hermione covered for you. Told McGonagall you left dinner early to go up to bed when she asked where you were." 

"She did?" Harry dropped into the chair across from Rosie, grateful for her pleasant and relaxing demeanor. "What are you doing up so late? I mean, it's not that late, but you're usually never..." 

Rosie shrugged. "I know. I dunno. You ever have one of those nights where you have to _move_, or at least get out of bed?" Harry nodded. "It's one of those nights. Probably because we're letting out soon." She looked away, smiling faintly. "I can't wait to get home." 

Harry smiled reflexively, then yawned. "Not one of those nights for me," he said, unable to resist the urge to stretch. Rosie laughed, and he grinned. "Definitely not one of those nights. I'm going to sleep." He stood. "G'night." 

" 'Night, Harry." 

Everyone else was upstairs in the dorm. Most had already finished washing up and were chattering by their beds or trying to get to sleep. The crowd in the washroom was thinner, so it didn't take Harry long to shower and brush. He gratefully fell into bed with his hair still damp and pulled the hangings closed. 

He lay awake for quite some time, thinking about (of all things) Draco Malfoy. He wondered how he could have been blind for nearly five years to such fierce competition from the other boy. Outside of Quidditch, he had never truly considered Malfoy his rival. Now he wondered: had Malfoy stayed after Potions class and inquired after Harry's marks as well as his own? Snape no doubt would have obliged his favorite student, especially since he would have been able to spite his most hated one at the same time. 

"_...he was always pushing me to be better than YOU_!" 

Harry flipped over onto his stomach restlessly. At least Malfoy's penchant for making life as miserable as possible for him was finally explained. He grimaced. With a father like Lucius Malfoy, Harry could hardly blame him. 

_He must have loved him_, he thought with another toss and turn. Beyond his drawn curtains, the room had darkened and quieted. _He wouldn't have pushed him at all if he hadn't._

Hovering uncertainly in the grey zone between the living world and sleep, Harry resolved to tell Draco so; tomorrow, if possible. He suddenly remembered with painful clarity that Lucius had been one of the Death Eaters killed by the Order. Guilt stabbed through Harry before he fell into a light doze. 

Around midnight he woke again, and this time there was no getting back to sleep. After a frustrating stretch of staring upwards into the darkness, Harry pulled back his drapes and dipped into his supply of InsomniMints. If he was going to be awake, he might as well be properly awake. Once the little mint had taken full effect, Harry stepped out of bed ("_Lumos_.") and looked around. Every other boy had drawn his hangings and was asleep. The dorm was silent. Harry stood there uncertainly for a moment, then decided to go down to the common room. On an impulse, he reached under his pillow and pulled out the Invisibility cloak. 

Halfway down the stairs, Harry became aware of the soft murmur of voices coming from within room. He hastily snatched his wand hand back under the safety of his cloak, plunging the stairwell into darkness. "Damn," he hissed to himself. Who else could be up this late? Annoyed, he started to climb back up the stairs, then hesitated and turned around. Maybe it was Hermione, reading to herself. It was a habit of hers that grew worse with the night. 

Harry padded cautiously to the bottom of the steps. The common room was in complete darkness, except for one corner at the far end where a small fire was burning. Two of the plush armchairs were drawn close together. Neville Longbottom was sitting in one of them, leaning forward until his head was almost touching Rosie Hether's. Harry frowned and drew closer until he could see both of their faces. 

"...really getting that bad?" murmured Rosie, sitting back into her chair. Neville leaned back as well. 

"I guess so," he replied grimly. He bit his lip. "It's funny, you know. Last year my worst fear was Snape." 

Rosie brought her hands to her mouth to muffle peals of laughter. "The Boggart!" she whispered. 

Neville nodded, a smile lighting his features. It startled Harry enough to make his jaw drop slightly. Why hadn't he seen it before? Neville rarely smiled anymore, not the genuine shy smile everyone had come to know. By the faint glow of the fire, he also realized that Neville's round face had become entirely too thin. The blond boy's expression darkened. "Harry had the right idea before any of us." 

"What do you mean?" 

"His Boggart became a Dementor." 

Harry saw the smallest hint of color drain from Rosie's face. She reached up to pull her brown hair back away from her face. There was silence for a heartbeat. "I don't like this," she said quietly. "We know too little." 

"They're trying." Neville shuddered and wrapped his arms about himself. "I don't want them doing this, Rosie. How could they be doing this again, after what happened to them?" 

Pained sympathy creased Rosie's brow. She leaned forward and put a hand on Neville's shoulder. "Because they weren't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing. And neither were you." 

Neville made a cynical noise. "My Dad was put into Ravenclaw." 

"Brains _and_ courage," retorted Rosie firmly. "Besides, at least they're only in the Ministry..." 

"So Fudge can make them disappear and keep us from knowing for months!" Rosie jerked back at Neville's angry tone. The younger one sighed. "Sorry, Rosie." 

"S'all right." She glanced about the seemingly empty room. Her gaze passed right through Harry, who tensed. "We'd better be getting back. It's late." 

"Right. Thanks for waiting up." 

Rosie smiled and stood. Harry had to jump backwards to avoid being bumped into as she walked past. For one panicky moment he fought for his balance. Neville got to his feet abruptly. Harry eyed the way his red and gold robes hung off of him. Yes, he had gotten far too thin. "Rosie." 

She turned back in the mouth of the stairwell. "Mm?" 

"I forgot to tell you...the package I got this morning. It was a Foe-glass." 

Harry felt as stunned as Rosie looked. _What does Neville need a Foe-glass for...?_

"Does it work?" she inquired wryly, quickly recovering. 

"Peeves showed up in it." Rosie chuckled. Neville quickly changed the subject. "Are you sure you don't want me to write any of it down?" 

She threw him an affectionate look, feigning indignance. "Have I ever wanted you to the entire year?" Her face became grim. Harry felt a shiver run up his back. She reached up and lightly tapped her temple. "Don't worry. It's all in here." 

**** 

"You look awful, Harry," commented Hermione lightly at breakfast on Saturday. 

"Thanks." He popped an InsomniMint into his mouth. 

"Those aren't a substitute for sleep, you know," she told him severely, buttering a slice of toast. Harry shrugged, reaching for his glass of raspberry cordial. "At least you're eating." 

"Of course I'm eating. I'm going back to the Dursleys in three days. Land of the carrots and grapefruit rinds." 

Hermione snorted into her drink, then sobered. "All right." She dropped her voice. "Have you written this Ranone woman back?" 

Harry nodded. "Asked her if there was any way she could meet me in a public Muggle place. Without the Dursleys knowing. Set up a Portkey for me, or something." He bit off a mouthful of biscuit. "I think I feel sorry for her. If what Dumbledore says is true..." 

"I don't care if she's being used as a pawn or not," said Hermione fiercely. "She'd better win that trial for Percy." She frowned. "How _are_ you going to get this trial business sorted out with your aunt and uncle, Harry? What if they don't let you..." 

"I'll threaten to kill them, law or no law," he replied evenly. 

Hermione was alarmed by how serious he sounded. "Harry...!" 

Harry mentally cringed, but was saved from a formidable scolding by an explosion of noise and motion in the air high above the tables. The morning owl post had arrived. The entire Great Hall surged as students and teachers alike reached up to catch the mail dropped upon them. As Hermione's copy of _The Daily Prophet_ landed in her lap, Harry glanced down the Gryffindor table to Neville Longbottom. No packages for him today. 

No mail for Harry, either. He fidgeted, glancing about the Hall. It was reasonable to expect an answer from Laura Ranone after three days. He accidentally made eye contact with Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table. Draco hesitated before nodding curtly. Harry nodded back. 

Up at the High Table, he saw Professor 'Harrison' rise to her feet to snatch at a fluttering envelope from an owl, her outlandish hair flashing in the sunlight. She glanced at it, then hurriedly tucked it into her loose robes. Harry narrowed his eyes as he saw Dumbledore lean forward to catch her gaze. She looked away coldly and pushed back from her breakfast. An eerie sense of _déja vu _assaulted him. 

"Harry." He blinked when Hermione grabbed and pulled on his shoulder. "Look at this." He leaned over to read the headline of the article she was pointing at. 

**Conflict in the Ministry**   
_Rita Skeeter, Investigative Reporter_

_There are many things that happen within a bureaucracy that never come to light. Such skeletons in the closet, when discovered, can lead to an embarrassing aftermath. But what of the sinister internal scandals and cover-ups that nearly destroyed the Ministry of Magic during the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? And why are rumors eerily similar to those of fifteen years ago circulating once again?_

_Are these simply idle gossip, or more serious warning signs? Investigative reporter Rita Skeeter ruthlessly digs for the truth, such as the answer to why Arthur Weasley, Minister Fudge's main opponent, has suddenly become silent..._

"I take back," said Harry slowly, "anything and everything bad I ever said about that woman." 

"So do I." 

After breakfast, Harry and Hermione joined most of the other students out on the grounds. It was a beautiful day, a bit warm, but nothing sitting down in the shade by the lake couldn't remedy. They sat together talking idly for some time, trying to savor what was left of the sanctuary of Hogwarts before the ugly realities of summer could stake their claim. 

"Do you remember third year?" 

Harry followed Hermione's gaze to the Whomping Willow, innocently dormant beneath the sun. "Yeah." 

"Do you suppose that's when it all started?" 

Harry's brow furrowed. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. That's when I first met Sirius." He sighed. "I wish I could have gone to live with him." Hermione didn't reply. Harry glanced at her and saw that she was toying with the locket Ron had given her. "Miss him?" he asked gently. 

Her fingers stilled on her throat. "So much. And I'm worried. He's my best friend, you know..._our_ best friend." 

Harry nodded, running his fingers through his unruly hair. "But he's your boyfriend." 

Hermione frowned, still staring at the Whomping Willow--or through it. "I know. But, really, Harry, what's a boyfriend when you're our age? I mean...it's rather awkward. We might like each other, but we don't really love each other." She sighed. "At least, we _shouldn't_." 

"He says he loves you." 

She laughed and shook her head. "That's what worries me. Ron wouldn't say something like that unless he meant it...but how would _he_ know? He's fifteen, for goodness' sake." 

Harry sat up straighter against the trunk of the tree and regarded her curiously. "Do _you_ love _him_?" 

She laughed again, but it was rueful. "That's what _really_ worries me." 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. A cool breeze roused Harry out of his thoughts. He glanced up at the uppermost windows of the castle, hesitating. "Hey," he told Hermione, "I'm going to go in. See if I can't get my O.W.L. marks out of McGonagall." 

Hermione turned on her elbow and raised an eyebrow. "Are you mad?" 

Harry grinned. "She's a softie when it comes to underage suffering and you know it." 

She shook her head with a smile. "Good luck. I think I'll stay out here for a while. There's Angelina and Katie." She stood, brushing herself off, then glanced at him. "Unless you want me to come with?" 

Harry winced. "That's all right," he said, giving her an apologetic look. To his relief, she only nodded and walked off. 

**** 

Professor 'Harrison' was sitting in her chair, long legs stretched out to rest on the edge of her desk as she read over a letter for the second time, when a rather timid knock came at the locked door. She deftly folded the parchments up and tossed them onto her desk, where they looked like inconsequential articles. "Come in," she ordered, waving her hand to negate the Locking Charm. 

Harry politely pushed the door open and then closed as he stepped in. Rysk's eyebrow arched sharply upon seeing him. "Potter. Need something?" 

He stared at her, noticing that she didn't even bother to place her feet on the floor. "I was just wondering..." He fidgeted a bit, hating how diffident he sounded but unable to help it. Resolve forced the next words out brashly. "Was that a letter from Sirius?" 

Her grey eyes flashed dangerously. "Who's Sirius?" 

Harry could have kicked himself. "Sorry. Padfoot. Snuffles. Whichever." 

She studied him a while longer, making him fight not to squirm. "What makes you think that?" she said coldly at last. 

"I saw you..." he walked to stand in front of her, "...in the Great Hall. You always seem to have a letter from him, anyway," he hazarded dryly. Rysk made an indifferent sound that might have been amused. "Could I see it, if it's safe? Please? I mean..." He searched her icy, calculating gaze for any clue as to whether she would say yes or no. There was nothing. Distantly, a morbid part of his mind wondered (with both fear and vicious anger) if this was how she had looked at Snape's parents before torturing and killing them. "I don't think he's going to be able to write me as much anymore. I just want to know--" 

Rysk took her feet off the desk. "_Accio_." The parchments flew into her waiting hand. Harry watched as she skimmed the letter, realizing excitedly that it was three pages long. To his dismay, she selected only the second one and handed it to him. He glanced at her before sitting down at one of the desks to read it. 

_...and I will._

_I don't suppose you remember much of Remus. He was always quiet if he didn't know you. Or didn't like you. But you knew he was a werewolf. He was always grateful that you didn't care much, even if he didn't like you. He's nearly silent now, not speaking unless he has to. He's become so withdrawn. Sometimes I want to scream at him and tell him that it's not his fault. I don't because he doesn't want to think about it._

_And sometimes I wonder if it really isn't._

_He'll never know that he was about to kill Harry. I'll murder to make sure of that._

_I think he's a broken man, but I'm not sure. See, I spent twelve years in Azkaban. James and Lily are dead because of me, and for that I deserve every nightmare I had in there and more. But Peter never suffered as he should have. He has the last laugh, in the end...Remus killed him. He turned Remus into a killer. But the thing is, I guess I can't tell if Remus is broken is because I think I might be, but I'm not sure. You can never tell when you're inside the situation. _You_ would know, though. I hope he's not broken, only horribly ashamed. I couldn't stand it if he was._

_The situation down here is very, very bad. Nothing has happened; no activity in any of the Whorls. Everyone is ready to jump out of their skin at the slightest noise. I think we've lost Voldemort entirely. What frightens me is that he hasn't _done_ anything. He's waiting, biding his time, until we walk right into some sort of trap. I wish he would do something so we could do something. It's better than sitting here and waiting for the axe to fall._

_My shift's coming up, so..._

Harry stared at the writing on the parchment, stunned. Why would Sirius write so much to Rysk, telling everything as though to a long estranged friend? He was suddenly burning with curiousity as to what the first and last pages contained. He looked up at his teacher. She was absorbed in reading the third sheet of parchment. There was a faint crease forming between her eyebrows that deepened as her eyes progressed through the letter. Harry wondered what it might mean. It made her look much older, in any case. _She could almost pass for 25,_ he thought sourly. He could only imagine how young she must have looked when she had attended Hogwarts as a student. 

His next breath came a bit more sharply as fragments of a past nightmare surfaced in his mind's eye. For a moment Harry was sure he saw blood staining Professor 'Harrison's' hands. He quickly glanced down at the section of the letter she had given him. 

_...Remus killed him. He turned Remus into a killer._

Lupin. A werewolf. Blood in the snow and a hideous corpse at the center of it all. A corpse that had begged Harry's forgiveness long after it had been unable to speak. An involuntary shiver wracked his spine. Rysk's bloody hands had been the only ones to comfort him that night. They were the ones that had delivered the crucial blow to Voldemort fifteen years ago and the ones that had crushed a young man's conscience. They were the ones that had saved his godfather's life and the ones that now so ruthlessly owned it. 

For one heartbeat, Harry felt a hint of what Sirius Black harbored for Carmen Rysk: eternal gratitude and viscious hatred. 

"Something interesting, Potter?" 

Harry nearly yelled as Rysk's amused voice brought him back to reality. He had tumbled into his own thoughts and been caught staring at her. He sat up straight and averted his gaze. "Sorry," he muttered, inwardly panicking. "I zoned out." He picked up the parchment. "This is really bad news," he added, hoping to diffuse any suspicions she might be having. He cast his eyes downwards. "God, Lupin..." 

Rysk waved her hand. The parchment shivered and jerked out of Harry's grasp. "Liked him?" 

"He was a good teacher," he replied evenly. "Does Padfoot write you much?" 

"No." Even though he desperately wanted to, Harry knew better than to ask to read the other two pages. He watched as Professor 'Harrison' folded the letter up and threw it into a drawer. "Question for you, Potter." 

"Yes, ma'am?" 

Harry thought he saw her lips quirk at being addressed by that title. "Do you know why Pettigrew decided to become human sacrifice?" 

He was sickened by the black humor in her voice. "It's a long story. He owed me his life, pretty much," he added, carefully watching her face for any reaction. He regretted it when he ended up being searched much harder. 

"A wizard's debt." 

"Right. Very long story. Don't want to talk about it." The words came out much more sharply than Harry had intended. 

"Is he the one that let you out of the cage?" 

"I _said_ I don't want to talk about it!" 

The American tilted her head to the side and regarded him with a chilling mildness. "Very well." 

Cheeks flaming, Harry rose to make his escape, mumbling his thanks and a goodbye as he did. He winced and closed his eyes when she detained him with a, "Potter." He glanced over his shoulder to see a roll of papers being tossed at him. He fumbled with it and managed to save it from falling. "Check it out over the summer. You might find it more interesting than the homework." 

Harry looked at the tube of white papers in his hand, bound together by a rubber band. Seeing his blank look, Rysk warned, "Don't you dare ask me what that is." Harry glanced sharply at her, caught off-guard, before realizing that she had just cracked a joke. He grinned uncertainly. "Oh, speaking of wizard's debts. You've got an end-of-the-year Hogsmeade trip tomorrow, don't you?" 

Harry blinked, then nodded. He had completely forgotten. 

Carmen Rysk regarded him keenly. "Malfoy might appreciate that silver and green dragon." Her voice took on a dry note. "Just a thought." 

**** 

When the door had closed behind Potter, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor sat at her desk for a length of time, fingers tented and tapping against each other every now and then. She finally reached for the drawer and jerked it open with a bit more force than necessary. She reached inside and drew out Black's letter. She began to read it again without realizing it. 

_Dear Carmen,_

_Professor Harrison,_

_Sorry for writing you. It's not the safest thing in the world, I know. You'd really rather not hear from me, I know that too...unless it's Order business. So I'll write about Order business. I just need to write to somebody, please. It's not safe to contact Harry as much as I used to. You don't even have to answer at all._

_Besides, you and I need to catch up. I'm sure there's a lot to catch up on. There's a lot I want to ask you. I didn't know if you were dead or alive for sixteen years. Well, no, I knew you were alive. But then, I was alive in Azkaban, too. Technically._

There was a scribble of ink in the margin beside that paragraph, as though Black had considered dashing it out but decided against it. Rysk's lips thinned into a line. She skipped down to the very bottom of the first page. 

_Tell me if you want me to stop..._

She turned to the second page. _...and I will._

Professor 'Harrison' bit her lip. She slipped the second sheaf to the back and read through the final page. Her eyes caught on the final words before Black's signature, or rather, his alias. They were written unevenly, as though Black had forced himself to ink them out. She had read them twice already, but the third time was the breaking point. Her teeth tore through skin. 

_I know you hate me. That's all right. I hate you, too. There's only one thing I really want to know. Did really you believe that I was guilty?_

Rysk let out a long breath through her nose, licking the blood off her lip. She lowered the letter and gazed ahead into nothing for a time. Then, wordlessly, she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and reached for a quill. 

_Received your letter._

Her hand hesitated. She muttered a curse. 

_Potter is fine._

She replaced her handwriting with the mark of the Order--a precaution Black had not bothered to take, she noted. Her lip twisted, but only half-heartedly. Rysk slid her reply into her jeans' pocket and went downstairs to find a suitable owl. 

**** 

On Sunday, everyone third-year and up made the last trip of the year to Hogsmeade. There was a frenzied rush to Zonko's Joke Shop and every candy store in the town. Harry went into one of them, but found that without Ron, he didn't really have an appetite for sweets, even the Firecracker Dust he had grown so fond of. Still, he dutifully bought several Chocolate Frogs and a bag of Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans for Hermione, more of a gag gift than anything. He left her at the Three Broomsticks sorting through the beans, making three steadily growing piles: ones that would kill her, ones that she didn't want to know about, and ones that she would risk eating. 

He went into Kullener's Odds and Ends and bought that silver and green dragon. 

On Monday, teachers used what little order there was left in their classrooms to hand out and go over (if they felt so inclined) summer assignments. Despite everything, Harry found himself murderously jealous of Ron: _he _didn't even have to _hear_ about this painfully long list of homework that Harry was staring at. At breakfast on Tuesday, Hedwig returned with a reply from Laura Ranone. He couldn't open it until much later that night, _after_ he had packed everything and forced a reluctant Hedwig into her cage. The daylight hours had been spent with Hermione, debating on which classes to schedule for next year. Harry was grateful for being absolutely swamped: it kept his mind off of the morbid thought that there might not _be_ a next year. 

"Well, then, what's it say?" 

The common room was completely empty, even of the seventh years. Everyone wanted to get a good night's sleep for tomorrow, when they would all go home for three months. Hermione had persuaded Harry to stay up later so that they could read the letter from Percy's attorney together. She hadn't needed to try very hard. Sleep had escaped Harry ever since Rysk had allowed him to read a section of Sirius's letter. He had been plagued by frequent nightmares of Dementors sweeping into the dorm, or lurking behind his godfather in Ireland. Hermione seemed to be having the same problem. She had paled visibly when he had confided Sirius's worries to her. 

Harry looked up at her over the edge of the parchment. He sighed and shifted, using the moonlight coming in through the window to read. "She said she'd try and get a Portkey set up. She's asking me where and when. I'm thinking perhaps somewhere in front of Mrs. Figg's house...on a Sunday morning, when the Dursleys go to church..." 

"Oh, _God_!" Hermione made a hacking, spitting sound. Harry jumped, alarmed. 

"What, what is it?!" He blinked when her hand was into his chest. There was the most comical look on her face: her eyes were wide and features twisted in an expression of disgust. 

"Give me a mint," she demanded frantically, "Gimme a mint!" 

Harry dumbly handed her an InsomniMint. She practically ripped its wrapper off and pushed it into her mouth. After a moment she breathed a sigh of relief. "Hermione...?" he hazarded timidly, trying to hold in laughter. 

His friend's eyes flew open as she glared at him in the dark. "I thought it was pina colada!" Harry's mouth worked as he looked about for an explanation. Then he saw the half-chewed jellybean lying on the carpet. He started to shake with silent laughter. "It's not funny!" snapped Hermione, fighting to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching. 

"What was it?" he gasped, trying to keep his voice a whisper. 

Hermione screwed up her face. "I don't know, and I don't care to." 

Harry eyed the gummed-up, white mass and suddenly grinned. "I think I can guess. It looks like bird--" 

She reached across the chess table and socked his arm just hard enough to hurt. "All right, that's enough!" She feigned hurt anger until he had stopped chuckling. "All right, the Portkey...be careful, Harry, you don't know if you can trust her." 

"Dumbledore did say something about a third party." Harry frowned at the parchment. "But this is Percy's lawyer." 

"You never know," said Hermione darkly. The fact that she was glaring suspiciously at another jellybean was almost comic. 

"Right." He blinked tiredly. "God, I wish Ron were here." 

**** 

The entire student population of Hogwarts filed into the Great Hall on Wednesday afternoon for the Parting Feast. Discontented murmuring came from the Slytherin table as everyone saw the crimson-and-gold drapes hanging from the ceiling. Behind the High Table, a rearing lion filled the Hogwarts crest. Draco Malfoy received more than a few murderous glares from his fellow Slytherins. 

As soon as everyone was seated, Headmaster Dumbledore rose from his seat. The Hall fell silent within moments. Dumbledore regarded the students with keen, twinkling eyes over his spectacles, then lifted his arms, spreading his voluminous robes. "This has been," he declared amiably, "yet another year completed without irreparable disaster." This drew several dry sniggers out of some of the more cynical-minded. Dumbledore sobered. "I'm afraid I must make the same announcement that I made at the beginning of the year. I urge all of you to bear it in mind when you go home this summer. 

"The Dark Lord _has_ returned. And he is still here." A deathly hush filled the vast room. Watching the High Table, Harry saw Rysk and McGonagall exchange a quick glance. "I ask only this: take precautions for your safety, but continue to live your lives. Terror is his weapon. Do not succumb to it." 

The Headmaster allowed a few moments for his words to take full effect. Then he cleared his throat, his tone taking on a considerably lighter quality. "Now, before I allow you all to partake in the delicious repast of our House Elves," his blue eyes sparkled to Hermione, who flushed, "I believe there is the issue of the House Cup to address. In fourth place, Ravenclaw, with three hundred and fifty points; Slytherin in third with five hundred and ninety points; Hufflepuff in second with six hundred...oh, my." Dumbledore glanced around. "Forgive me; I've gotten carried away with the festivities. A moment of silence for Cedric Diggory, please." 

Harry bowed his head and closed his eyes, not caring if he looked overly sincere. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye sympathetically. A minute passed without even the rustle of a robe being heard. 

"Ahem." The Hall roused into life again. "As I was saying, Hufflepuff comes into second place with six hundred points, and Gryffindor takes first place with six hundred and fifty points!" 

A storm of wild cheers and clapping erupted around Harry at the Gryffindor table. At the High Table, Snape scowled. Harry stood with everyone else in the excitement, but his eyes were on Draco Malfoy, who sat ignoring the cold hostility of his friends as best he could. He hoped that the flowing dragon from Kullener's would be some consolation... 

"Well done, Gryffindor," said Dumbledore when the noise had finally dropped from its ear-splitting level. Then he met Harry's eyes. "But before we award the Cup, there is one final batch of points that I would like to dish out." 

The beaming smiles at the Gryffindor table faltered. 

"There are some in this Hall that have suffered great losses. There are also those who have overcome those losses with great courage in the face of adversity. Sometimes people are not who we think they are. So for sheer bravery, quick thinking, and noble sportsmanship, I award Draco Malfoy one hundred points." 

There was a stunned silence. Malfoy seemed uncomprehending; many at the Gryffindor table looked ready to murder or cry. Harry took a shaking breath, then got up and began to clap. 

He broke the spell. Hermione stood up beside him as the entire Slytherin table erupted into deafening celebration. One by one, everyone at the Gryffindor table rose to their feet. Harry saw Malfoy struggling not to disappear under a wave of euphoric Slytherins, showering him with claps on the back and congratulations. Their eyes met from across the Hall. Harry smiled, and after a moment, Draco smiled back. 

"I believe a change of decoration is in order!" shouted Dumbledore over the din, and with a wave of his wand, the scarlet hangings became emerald and the gold became silver; the towering Gryffindor lion vanished and a huge Slytherin serpent took its place. 

As the thunderous applause continued, Harry glanced over at Hermione and was shocked to see that she was whooping at the top of her lungs. He knocked her elbow and gave her a puzzled look. She grinned ruefully. "He saved your life!" Even though she was shouting, Harry could barely hear her above all the noise. "Slytherin can have the Cup until seventh year for all I care!" 

"Eat!" cried Dumbledore as the golden platters were suddenly piled with buttered toast and delicious sweetmeats and the crystal pitchers became filled with the most delicious drinks. "Eat, drink, and play Tetris!" 

**** 

Hogwarts was silent, devoid of the usual chatter and pounding of many footsteps. The sound of the students outside, shouting goodbyes as they climbed onto the carriages that would take them to the Hogwarts Express, did not penetrate the castle's thick walls. But it reached Professor 'Harrison's' ears as she stood in the open window of her classroom and prepared the last owl she would send out today. The large brown bird stood cooperatively still as she tied a roll of white Muggle papers around one of its legs. The packet was an exact copy of the one she had given to Potter. It was destined for the Order, bearing only the simple message of: _Get this to Ginny Weasley._

Rysk threw the owl into the air and watched it fly away into the glare of the sun, unnoticed by any of the children below. 

Except for Harry Potter, who felt the strangest bit of a tingle along his scar and looked back and up to see her leaning in the window frame. 

"Quite a year, wouldn't you say?" Rysk wheeled about. Dumbledore was standing in the hallway, still wearing his festive blue robes. "With quite an unexpected finale." 

"It was about fucking time," she said evenly, closing the window. 

"I thought you might appreciate it," he beamed. 

"What do you need?" 

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in an amiable manner. "Must you always be so hostile? I know this has been a long year, for you especially. Will you be all right?" 

She crossed her arms. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

Albus looked at her, the twinkle in his eyes fading to reveal a deep, impossible sorrow. She returned his gaze with an emotionless stare. Neither spoke for a long time. Finally, unable to withstand her silent accusation, Dumbledore broke the silence. "Scorn the world, Carmen," he said softly. "Scorn the world and deceive all others, but do not deny to me that you have a conscience." 

Rysk's upper lip curled imperceptibly. "I have O.W.L.s to send out." She crossed the space to her desk and sat down behind it. She didn't look up as Dumbledore left. Her grey eyes were as hard as ice. 

**** 

Harry looked up from talking to Hermione as a cart filled with every sweet imaginable stopped in the aisle beside them. "Anything, dearies?" asked the plump woman cheerfully. 

"Nothing, thanks." He couldn't help noticing that the witch was glancing furtively at his scar. He shook his head, hoping that some of his hair would fall conveniently over it. Hermione bought some Rainbow Taffy. 

"Have some?" she said, tearing off a piece and offering it to him. He eyed the constantly-changing color with some interest, but quietly refused. He turned his chin in his hand, staring out the window and watching the countryside fly by. 

They had left Hogwarts quite some time ago, but Harry was still back in the castle. Or, to be specific, Snape's dungeon. 

_"Sir?" he said quietly, knocking on the open door to be polite as he stepped into the cold room. Snape turned from packing empty glass vials into an old box._

_"What are you doing here, Potter?" asked the Potions master, his voice matching the temperature of the room. "The carriages will be arriving soon." Snape's black eyes were wary. Harry smiled to try and put him at ease._

_"I just wanted to say congratulations."_

_Snape's eyebrow arched sharply. "Will wonders never cease." He turned back to his task. "It's only a silly school competition."_

_Harry wasn't fooled by the professor's sneering tone. "I'm sure that's what you told yourself when we won for four years straight," he muttered._

_Snape froze. "What was that?"_

_"Nothing. Um, Professor..."_

_"Out with it." He sounded impatient._

_"Will you be all right?"_

_Harry stiffened as the Potions master slowly turned around and sent his gaze boring into his eyes. He refused to look away, braced for a cruelly sarcastic remark or an enraged shout._

_Snape drew a long breath. "Yes, Potter." For a moment, he sounded almost grateful. "I believe I'll be all right."_

_Relief brought a genuine smile to Harry's face. "Good. One more thing...thank you."_

_"What for?"_

_"Just in case I won't be able to say it next year." He sounded strangely calm. "You never know."_

_"You mustn't think that way, Potter," said Snape. There was a quiet ferocity in his voice and in the way he took a step forward, as though alarmed. Unexpectedly, Harry felt his resolve to turn and leave his teacher in the hell created by an _Obliviate_ curse cast sixteen years ago weaken dangerously. His lips moved on their own._

_"Right. Professor..." Snape must have sensed the strange catch in his voice; he stared at Harry intently._

_"Yes?"_

Say it. Say it, _cried a desperate voice in Harry's head._ "You didn't kill them." Say it. 

_"Nothing."_

"Nothing," whispered Harry to the world passing by, hating himself. 

_"I'll see you next year."_

_Snape's lips creased in the faintest of smiles. "Next year, Potter."_

Hermione's voice jarred him back to the present. "...you want, Malfoy?" 

Harry jerked. "Sorry, what...?" She wasn't looking at him. He followed her glare (if looks could kill...) up to Draco Malfoy standing in the aisle beside them. For once, the blonde boy wasn't flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Something pricked smartly at Harry's memory. 

"Hello, Draco." He glanced at Hermione. She pursed her lips but did not unleash the barrage of insults she no doubt had in mind for Malfoy. Harry scooted slightly closer to the window. "Sit down, if you want. I've got something for you..." 

Harry reached into his bag, pulled out the crystal case, and handed it to Malfoy. The sinuous, beautiful dragon, flowing around and around in its box, widened the other boy's eyes. "Made of safe mercury and dragon blood synthate," he told Malfoy, repeating what Rysk had told him over six months ago. 

"It's wicked," said Draco after a moment, almost grudgingly. 

Harry glanced at Hermione, who simply looked shocked. Harry suddenly wanted to laugh and cry at the same time: his life had been turned upside down and inside out. Again. 

Whatever was coming, it was going to be an unforgettable summer. 

FIN 


	33. Epilogue

_I couldn't resist._   
________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Snape's fingers twitched. The beginnings of a cramp were stirring in his stomach. The Potions master knew that it would not be long before the discomfort became agonizing pain and chills began to wrack his body. He leaned forward with his elbows on his writing desk and found that he had no desire of the mug of tea he was staring down into. An abrupt pang twisted his stomach more sharply than the previous ones had. Snape flinched and closed his eyes against the rising steam. He took a shuddering breath as the first of the tremors ran up his spine and through his shoulders. 

Today was the day he usually took the Soulsbane substitute, but a week ago Madam Pomfrey had told him that it was time for the final stage of weaning him completely off the drug. That meant one dose of the substitute every month instead of every two weeks. Snape knew he would go through hell. His body always craved the drug, or anything similar, and every time Pomfrey lengthened the intervals between doses it went through severe cases of withdrawal. Mechanically, Snape raised the tea to his lips, then lowered it immediately when he felt his lips shaking against the rim of the mug. 

He snarled weakly under his breath. He would not curl like a pathetic dog in his chambers this time. Not with Pomfrey and McGonagall and the Headmaster know what he was going through, and pitying him. 

_No pity. I loathe it. No...pity..._

He pushed his black hair out of his face and dragged himself to his feet. A walk through the castle would force him to keep control. 

Hogwarts was empty and cold. Snape had always relished the silence that came in the wake of the students' departure, but today it seemed heavy and crushing. He shivered, pulling his robes closer about himself. The school was far too frigid, even for the summer. In fact, it became colder with every step he took, until Snape was sure that he was freezing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that the withdrawal was truly setting in and that what he was doing was foolhardy, but already his thinking was becoming clouded. 

He slowly climbed the steps to the top floor of the castle, sheer delirium spurring him on. The pains in his stomach were very acute now, forcing him to double over. He staggered and fell against the railing of the corridor, the only thing that prevented him from plunging to his death. He stared down at the distant foyer and idly wondered if his body could be numbed against the pain of... 

_I need it. I need it. Takes away the pain. Like opium...poppy seeds and lotus root and...opium doesn't have lotus root...let me die, just let me die. I want to forget...it lets me forget. Can't Potter see that? This is all his fault...found me out..._

Snape let out a choked sob. 

_There was someone else, too...can't remember who else...I need it, I need it, hurts too much. Stop the screams...stop, just stop. It makes it go away. I should die I deserve to die I should have fought it so weak weak little coward..._

The agony in his stomach and in all of his muscles paled in comparison to the one in his chest. It alternated between a dull ache and a thousand burning needles, sometimes mixing until he couldn't feel one from the other. He had stopped moving, instead just clutching at the railing and staring blankly over it, unaware of the tears streaming down his face and mingling with the hair that had fallen forward. _I didn't mean it...I didn't want to...I didn't know...he made me, he made me..._ "Sorry," he whispered. "So sorry. Forgive me...please..." His knuckles turned white. "...forgive me." 

The screams that echoed from his past suddenly erupted to a volume that split his mind open. Snape barely heard his own shriek as he clutched at his head, falling to his knees. Not for the first time in his life, Severus Snape wanted to die. Something made him look up. 

_She_ was there. She made those screams in his head. There was something in her grey eyes, something in her face. Something that hovered so cruelly on the farthest reaches of his imagination; of his sanity. Something... 

"Professor?" demanded her voice. Professor 'Harrison' narrowed her eyes and quickened her stride, ready to break into a run if necessary. She stopped dead in her tracks as the Potions master met her gaze; an icy thrill coursed through her veins as she saw the impossible: a flicker of recognition behind Snape's eyes. 

"You..." he whispered, without anger, without fear, simply like a broken man. Then he collapsed forward, losing consciousness. 

Rysk was at his side in a flash. She felt his wrist for a pulse and found it racing. She laid the inside of her arm against Snape's forehead to feel it burning. He moaned as she brought it away damp with cold sweat. "Shit," she breathed, placing a hand on his chest and feeling how his body shook violently, almost spasmodically. The witch rocked back on her heels, contemplating the Potions master with a hard gaze. 

"I'm not sorry," she told him quietly. "I'm not sorry." Then, utterly alone, she closed her eyes and bowed her head so that neither her face nor her eyes could betray her grief. 

The American stood. "_Mobilius corpus._" The Potions master cried out as he was jerked into the air. Rysk immediately reversed the spell, causing Snape to drop to the floor again. Rysk tucked her wand away. She crouched back down beside him, a faint grimace pulling at her lips, then slid her arms under his back and knees, reluctance written in every movement. Snape's face remained drawn and twisted in pain as she carried him to her classroom. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and wetted a spot on her robes. Rysk wondered if he could still feel the headache she caused. 

She glanced at the door when she reached it, silently ordering it to open. She had to try twice before it swung outwards and she could step inside. Her desk, which had been neat and spartan throughout the school year, was now completely bare of any parchment or quill. Even the silver bell was gone. All of it had been magically packed into the small duffel bag lying on the floor. After laying Snape gently down onto the desk, Rysk slung the brown sack over her shoulder and turned to go. 

Several minutes later, she was still there, looking down at him. What had been intended as a final glance had turned into a final look and then into a stare. She let her bag slide to the ground and shrugged off her grey robes. She draped them over his shivering form, careful to never really touch him; but as she pulled her hand back it was arrested by an invisible force. For the first time, her cold expression faltered. Her fingers lingered so close to his skin that she could feel its warmth, just beneath a lock of hair that had fallen across his face. For a fleeting moment, she nearly brushed it away, but then a final tear trickled down and touched her. 

Rysk snatched her hand back as though burnt. 

She took up her belongings again and turned her back on Severus Snape. She knew that he would find no peace in this sleep, and no peace when he awoke from it. 

But at least then she, who had his tears on her hands...she would be gone. 

Rysk left the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind. She made her way through the halls of the castle, a queer figure, out of place in her jeans and T-shirt, emblazoned with a ball of Celtic knots and a rearing dragon. She would go out to Hogsmeade and from there Apparate to America, to a place where even Dumbledore could not trace her. Without a word to another witch or wizard or even a sign to mark her departure, Carmen Rysk walked out of Hogwarts. 


End file.
